In the briefest of all instants everything changed for Annie Brooke; the
gay people, the gay hotel, the pleasant, easy living seemed to fade from
her sight. She trembled all over. Mabel looked at her in astonishment.
"Come indoors; I must speak to you. We must go away to-night if
possible," said John Saxon.
"May I introduce my friend Mabel Lushington?" said Annie, making a
valiant effort to recover herself.
Saxon bowed to Mabel as though he did not see her. Annie whispered to
her friend:
"He is my cousin. I am afraid, my dear, that Uncle Maurice is very ill.
I will come to you in your room, Mabel, soon. Please don't say a word
to Lady Lushington."
Mabel nodded. There was an anxious note in Annie's voice which was
unmistakable. Mabel was not specially sympathetic, and would never be
so to one she knew as thoroughly as she did Annie. But even she
recognised the reality of Annie's present trouble.
"What in the world am I to do without her?" she thought as, refusing the
lift, she went up the wide and spacious staircase, up and up to that
fourth floor of the immense hotel where the Lushingtons' rooms were
situated.
Meanwhile Saxon drew Annie aside into a small room which led out of the
great hall.
"Why did not you come when I telegraphed? I sent you money for the
purpose. You must come with me now, at once. A train leaves here for
England at midnight. Will you go and pack your things? Take that
off"--he glanced at the pretty blue dress. "Get ready. Do you wish to
see him alive?"
"John, don't look at me like that. Where is the use? How could I tell
that Uncle Maurice was so ill? I can't stand it, John, if you look at
me like that. Although you are my cousin, John, you have no right to."
"No right to?" he said with scorn. "I know a _woman_ when I see her,
and a butterfly when I look at her. Do you think it was a pleasure to
me to leave the dying old man, to run the risk of his dying in my
absence, in order to bring you to him? But he shall have his last great
wish gratified, and I believe God will spare him just that he may see
you again. But I tell you what it is, Annie Brooke, if we return and
find that saint has left the world before the one wish of his heart is
gratified, I shall feel uncommonly like cursing you. Now you know what
I think of you. Go upstairs at once and get ready; we leave here
immediately."
"Oh John!" moaned poor Annie.
But John Saxon was obdurate. One of the waiters came in and asked the
gentleman if he wanted a room. John briefly explained his errand. He
would have a meal of some sort, he said, and must leave by the midnight
train. The young lady, Miss Brooke, his cousin, would accompany him.
If Mabel scorned the lift in order to get to her room, Annie was glad to
avail herself of it. She was glad to sink back into a corner of the
spacious lift and close her eyes for a minute and try to recover her
scattered thoughts. Was the whole world crumbling to pieces around her?
Were all her schemes to come to naught? The necklace--would her
dealings with Mr Manchuri in the matter of the necklace ever be
discovered? Would other matters in connection with that disgraceful
affair come to light? Would Mabel--poor silly Mabel, left all alone
with Lady Lushington and Mrs Ogilvie--confess the truth? Annie was
terrified that Mabel would do so. At this moment she dreaded Mabel even
more than she had dreaded Priscilla; for Mabel was essentially weak,
whereas Priscilla was essentially strong. If Priscilla thought it right
to go through a certain course, she would go through it, come what
might; but Mabel could be moved and turned and tossed about by any wind
of chance.
Mabel was certainly in a tight hole. To pursue a different metaphor,
her little boat was out on a most stormy sea. With Annie as pilot it
might get safely to shore, but without Annie it was sure to knock to
pieces on the rocks of circumstance. Mabel would tell. What was Annie
to do? Why had John Saxon come? How she hated, how she loathed her
manly cousin at that moment! What a fool she had been to give him her
address! She had done it in a moment of impulse, little, little
guessing that he would act upon the information so quickly.
He had come in person. She could not shuffle out of the strong grasp of
that iron determination. She must leave all her fun just where she
hoped it was really beginning.
It was a pale and worn-out Annie who presently arrived in Mabel's room.
Mabel was pacing up and down, her face quite chalky in colour and her
eyes wild with fright.
"Well, now," she said the moment she saw her friend, "what is to be
done?"
"Oh, _do_ think of some one besides yourself!" said Annie. "Have you no
pity for me, with my dear uncle so ill--dying?"
"But you don't really care," said Mabel, looking full at Annie.
Annie felt inclined to stamp her foot.
"You little wretch!" she said. "Do you suppose I have no heart?"
"To be truthful with you, Annie," said Mabel, "I do not think you have
much; but that's not the point. Are you really going with that--that
dreadful young man?"
"My cousin, Mr Saxon? Yes; we leave here by the midnight train. I have
about two hours longer to spend in the hotel."
"Then what am I to do?" said Mabel.
Annie sat down determinedly.
"Let me think," she said. She covered her face for a moment with her
hand. Already she was beginning, after a fashion, to recover herself,
to get back her _aplomb_, her great talent for double dealing. "Let me
think," she said again.
"Well, don't be long," said Mabel, "for time passes."
"Yes; but if you will be silent I will have thought out something after
a minute or two." Just then Parker tapped at the door.
"Shall I let her in?" whispered Mabel.
In reply to this, Annie herself went to the door, unlocked it, and flung
it wide-open.
"Come in, Parker; come in," she said.
"Why, what is the matter with you, Miss Brooke?" said that astute woman.
"A great deal," replied Annie. "I have got to go home at once; my
cousin, Mr Saxon, has come to fetch me. My dear, dear uncle is--is
dying. He has been as a father to me. I must leave by the midnight
train."
"So I heard downstairs," said Parker, putting on a certain sympathetic
manner and trying to penetrate beneath Annie's apparent grief. "I will
pack your things for you, of course, Miss Brooke; you need have no
trouble on that score. I came up here to offer my services. What dress
will you wear travelling, miss?"
"Oh, my dark-blue serge will be best; but it doesn't matter," said
Annie.
"I will put in some of the pretty things you wore while you were here,
miss," said Parker. "I know her ladyship would wish it. I don't
suppose your trunks will quite hold them all, but I can get in a good
many."
"Thank you, Parker; I don't care about them now. I am in dreadful
trouble about dear uncle."
"Of course you must be, miss; but I am sure we are all sorry to lose
you, for you do manage her ladyship in the most wonderful way, and I
will say that you are as unselfish and pleasant-spoken a young lady as
ever I came across. You will find the dresses and other things useful
some time, miss, so I will get as many as ever I can into your trunks."
Annie murmured something. She would love to keep her pretty dresses;
they would be effective at school. She could think of school and her
appearance there, and the looks of envy of her companions even at this
supreme moment.
"Then I will go and pack at once," said Parker, preparing to leave the
room.
She had nearly got as far as the door when she turned.
"By the way, miss," she said, looking at Mabel, "my mistress is quite
annoyed about a necklace she bought for you at Interlaken yesterday.
She said that it was valuable, although old-fashioned--a pearl necklace
set in silver. She thought I had it with the rest of the jewels; but
you never gave it to me, Miss Lushington. My mistress said that I was
to see it safely in the jewel-case before I went to bed to-night. Where
did you put it? Can I get it now, miss?"
Mabel was silent. Her voice quite choked with the agony of the moment.
Annie, however, took the initiative.
"Of course you can, Parker," she said. "It was awfully silly of Mabel
not to give you the box that contained the necklace; it was the most
idiotic thing I ever heard of.--I am sure, darling, I urged you to do
so. But there, no doubt it is safe. You put it into the lid of your
big trunk."
Mabel nodded. She could not bring herself to speak.
"Then we will find it immediately," said Annie. "Notwithstanding my own
great sorrow, it will be a comfort to me to know that the necklace is
safe under Parker's care before I leave; for the fact is, Parker, it was
I who discovered it. I thought it was quite a valuable thing, but I am
rather afraid now that Lady Lushington paid too much for it. However,
that is neither here nor there; we have got to find it."
"Here are the keys of Miss Lushington's trunks," said Parker. She
proceeded as she spoke to unlock the largest of the trunks, which
happened to be a canvas one, and slightly the worse for travel.
"I am very sorry indeed, miss, you put it in here," said Parker. "Why,
see how loose the cover is. A person could almost put his hand in
between the cover and the inside of the trunk. Well, where did you put
it, miss?"
"I will find it; I will find it," said Annie.
She stooped as she spoke and began that examination which she knew
beforehand must be fruitless. Mabel stood with her back to the two,
looking out of the window. Annie longed to shake her. Was not her very
attitude giving the whole thing away?
"I really can't find it," said Annie after a moment's pause. "Do come
and look yourself, May. Are you dazed? Have you lost your senses? Oh,
I know, poor darling May! it is sorrow at parting with poor little me.--
Parker, Miss Mabel just adores me; don't you, precious one! Well, well,
Parker will do all she can for you when I am gone."
"I can't take your place, Miss Brooke. I am really sorry you have to
go.--But now, Miss Mabel, the best thing to do is just to empty the lid
of the trunk. We'll get to the box that way without disarranging all
your pretty things."
The lid of the trunk was speedily emptied, and of course no necklace was
found.
"There!" said Annie. Her heart was beating so fast that the pallor of
her face was far from assumed. The fear in her eyes, too, seemed only
too natural.
"Some one has stolen it!" she said to Parker. She clasped the woman's
arm. "What _are_ we to do?"
Parker looked distinctly annoyed. Mabel stood stonily silent,
apparently almost indifferent.
"Miss Lushington," said the woman--"do wake up and consider, miss.
Perhaps you _didn't_ put it into the lid of the trunk; perhaps you put
the box that held the necklace somewhere else."
"No, I didn't; I put it into the lid," said Mabel. "I won't say I put
it anywhere else; the lid will do; I put it there. I won't be bothered
about it!"
She marched out of the room, got as far as the wide landing, and burst
out crying. Her queer conduct and queer words terrified Annie and
amazed Parker.
"What _is_ the matter with Miss Mabel, miss?" said the maid, turning to
the girl.
Annie put her pretty, white hand on Parker's arm.
"Leave her alone with me for a little, please, Parker. Just go off and
pack my things, like the jewel you are. She is awfully upset at my
going--and you know I must, on account of my dear uncle."
Annie's voice quavered. Indeed, she herself was very nearly breaking
down.
"I must go, you know, Parker," she said, her pretty eyes filling with
tears which only added to their beauty. "But I'll manage Mabel. It
_is_ dreadful about the necklace; but perhaps you will recover it."
"We never will," said Parker. "It's a dreadful bit of business. Her
ladyship will be wild. She does so hate it when anything is stolen.
But there are lots of robberies taking place on the railways of late.
It is a perfect disgrace. Even the registering of your goods seems not
to secure things. Of course I always carry the jewels in my own hand;
it's the only safe way. Miss Mabel must have been mad to put a valuable
necklace such as her ladyship described into that old trunk."
"It wasn't nearly so valuable as Lady Lushington supposed; that is the
only comfort," said Annie.
"But, miss, I don't understand. I thought it was you who urged her
ladyship to get it, and that you had quite a knowledge of gems."
"I found out afterwards--I will tell you the secret, Parker, and you can
break it to her ladyship when I am gone--I found out afterwards that I
had made a slight mistake. The necklace was worth, say, about twenty
pounds, but no more, for some of the pearls were quite worthless. I
happened to show it to a gentleman I knew very slightly at the Belle Vue
Hotel, and he deals in that sort of thing. He disappointed me in his
estimate of the necklace; but that doesn't matter. It is terrible that
it should be lost. Still, you might tell Lady Lushington what he said.
There is no use in telling Mabel. She doesn't care twopence about it,
poor child, at the present moment; she is so broken down at my leaving."
"Well, miss, I must be off to do the packing. I will make the best of
things and never forget how pleasant you have been during your visit,
miss. I will see, too, that you have a basket of sandwiches and some
wine packed for your journey."
Parker went off. The moment she did so Annie went into the corridor and
fetched Mabel in.
"Oh, you goose of all geese!" she said. "Now the worst is over; I tell
you the worst is over. You don't suppose for a single moment your aunt,
Lady Lushington, will think that you stole the necklace or that I stole
it. She will suppose, most assuredly, that it was stolen on the journey
between Interlaken and Zermatt. Parker is convinced on the subject and
I have let Parker understand that it was not nearly as valuable as I
supposed. Lady Lushington won't trust me to manage a bargain for her
again; that is the worst that can happen. Now, May, do cheer up. You
are all right. I will manage things for you when Priscilla's Christmas
bill comes round. You will see plenty of me, I fancy, between now and
then. Dry your eyes, darling. I know you are sorry to part from me."
"I can't go on being wicked without you; that's the principal thing,"
said Mabel. "I know I'll give in."
"Think what injury you'll do me; and do you really want to go back to
that horrid school?"
"I don't think I'd mind so very much; it was peaceful, at least at
school."
"You would soon be sick of that sort of peace."
"I suppose I should," said Mabel.
She had already wiped her eyes, and she began slightly to cheer up.
"Annie," she said eagerly, "is your uncle really dying?"
"John Saxon says so; otherwise, of course, he would not have come," said
Annie.
"If," said Mabel, trembling a good deal--"if afterwards you could come
back--"
Annie's heart bounded.
"I can't talk of it," she said; "don't speak of it now. When the time
comes, if you--were--to write I will write to you, that is, if I have
strength to write to any one. You have my address. You know how deeply
I shall always love you. You know there is no good turn I would not do
for you."
"I want you to help me until Priscilla's year at school is out," was
Mabel's matter-of-fact retort. "Of course, dear, of course; and I will.
Your Annie will never forsake you. But now perhaps we had better go
downstairs."
The girls made a quite picturesque appearance as they went slowly down
the broad staircase. Mabel had not cried enough to look ugly, and
Annie's few tears and pallor and evident distress gave to her face the
depth of expression which in her lighter moments it had lacked.
John Saxon was seated close to Lady Lushington. Lady Lushington had
recognised him as a friend and a favourite. He rose when the girls
appeared, and Lady Lushington went at once up to Annie.
Her manner was very cold and distant. "You did not give me the
slightest idea, Miss Brooke, how ill your uncle was when you received
your cousin's letter."
"I didn't know that he was especially ill," said Annie.
Lady Lushington looked full at her. It seemed at that moment that a
veil had fallen away from Annie's face, and that the gay, proud, and
selfish woman of the world saw the girl for the first time as she was.
Lady Lushington, with all her faults--the faults of her class and her
manner of life--was exceedingly good-natured, and could be remarkably
kind. She was thoroughly angry with Annie for concealing the truth with
regard to John Saxon's letter. She could, and would, forgive much to
any young girl who was enjoying herself and who wanted to continue the
good time which had fallen to her lot; but to forget one who stood in
the place of a father, to let him long for her in vain, was more than
Lady Lushington could stand.
"I don't appreciate that sort of thing," she said to herself. "It is,
somehow, beneath me. I don't understand it."
She made up her mind on the spot, that, as far as Mabel was concerned,
the friendship between the two girls was to terminate there and then.
Never would she have anything farther to do with Annie Brooke. As that
was the case, she did not consider it necessary to correct her.
"I am sorry," she said briefly, "that you did not interpret very plain
English in the manner in which it was intended. I don't think for a
single moment that your cousin meant to complain of you to me, but he
simply quoted some words of his letter, and seemed altogether astonished
that you did not start for England the day before yesterday. However, I
trust you will find your dear uncle alive when you get home. I have
desired Parker to pack your things, and now you would doubtless like to
go up and change your dress."
"Thank you," said Annie very meekly. She glanced in Mrs Ogilvie's
direction; but Mrs Ogilvie took no notice of her.
"Mabel, come and sit here near Mrs Ogilvie," said Lady Lushington as
Annie once again disappeared. "You can say good-bye to your friend
presently; there is no necessity for you to spend the whole evening
upstairs."