THE LOST "N.B."
"A pen—to register: a key—
That winds through secret wards:
Are well assigned to memory
By allegoric bards."—WORDSWORTH.
"WHERE are you going to sit?" demanded Daisy of Nigel.
"In the study for the present. Why?"
"May I come too? I won't disturb you, or be a bother. Do let me."
Nigel would have preferred an hour or two alone, but he hesitated to
refuse, looking in Daisy's beseeching eyes. She was a very devoted
younger sister, and had not had much of his company of late.
"If you like," he replied. "But why?"
"I'm going to do something that madre ought not to see; and anywhere
else she might pounce down upon me."
"Pounce" was not precisely the correct word for Mrs. Browning's slow
and graceful movements; but girls of Daisy's age are not exact in their
use of language.
"I want to clear out Fulvia's old jewel-case, and put all her things
into the new one—the one Mr. Carden-Cox gave her, you know. I don't
see why that nice box shouldn't be used. It wasn't its fault that Mr.
Carden-Cox behaved as he did. And I dare say he would be awfully vexed
if he knew she had not begun to use it. And he is sure to ask, now that
we are to see him again. Besides, Fulvia once said she would give her
old one to me when she had another, and I want to have it. But it might
upset mother to see Fulvia's birthday present, so I thought I would
bring it to the study."
"Why not manage affairs in Fulvia's room?"
"Oh, I'd rather be with you!" coaxed Daisy. "Madre won't come. She'll
think you are busy."
"So I mean to be. Well, if you like."
Daisy established herself with much satisfaction at one end of the
table, placing side by side the handsome empty box and the shabby full
one. She had found the keys without difficulty.
Nigel made himself comfortable in the arm-chair with a book. He had
letters to write, but "they could wait," he said.
Daisy did not strictly keep to her promise of "not disturbing" Nigel,
if that meant not speaking; but perhaps Nigel was not disturbed. He
listened to her remarks, and answered, laying down his book; and this
naturally encouraged chatter on her part.
"Fulvia has such a lot of nice rings. I wish I had a quarter as many.
But she says she doesn't care for any of them, except her engagement
ring, and the locket you gave her last birthday. I do like this
sapphire. It's grand. And her diamond brooch; doesn't it flash? I
should like to have a diamond pin to wear in my hair—just one huge
blazing diamond that would flash all across the room. What are you
thinking about?"
"Wondering if you will ever be anything but a child."
"Not till I'm an old maid," promptly responded Daisy. "But is it
childish to like diamonds?"
"That depends on the mode of liking—and the manner of expression."
"Oh, well, I can't help it. People must take me as I am. There, now
things begin to look jolly. I hope Fulvia will keep to my arrangement.
The pink cotton-wool is pretty, isn't it?—under silver and pearl.
See, I've made quite a bed of it in one place for the silver Maltese
brooches, and the gold filigree things are opposite. You won't need to
buy lots of jewellery when you are married, because your wife will have
enough."
"That's fortunate, since I shall not have lots of spare money."
"Yes; isn't it a pity Fulvia won't be rich? Now, I'll put the chains
into this tray. Nigel—" with one of her sudden flights into a new
region—"have you seen Ethel Elvey yet?"
"No."
"I thought you might. You did call one day, didn't you? Anice said
you had, and she said you found everybody out. But Ethel does look so
altered, you can't think!"
"How!"
"I don't know. You'll see. Her face seems to have shrunk, and her eyes
have grown so big. She laughed and talked just as she always does, but
somehow—I thought—I don't exactly know what, only she didn't seem like
herself. Malcolm told me yesterday that she has not been well for ever
so long. She has never quite got over that bad cold, and the fever
coming after it. At least Malcolm seemed to think it was that. Poor
Ethel! I am so sorry."
Nigel pushed his chair farther back, thereby putting his face into
shade. Daisy was too intent upon her occupation to notice him.
"I thought you'd like to know, because you and Ethel always were such
friends. It seemed funny that she had not been to see us; but Malcolm
says she gets so easily tired she really can't walk far, most days.
That's not like Ethel. Now I have done both trays. The old box is quite
empty, so Fulvia may as well let me have it. There's only the place in
the lid for the looking-glass; nothing else, of course. Just a piece of
crumpled paper, written all over! Why, it must be part of a letter, and
in Mr. Carden-Cox's handwriting. How comical of Fulvia to keep it here!
I dare say she tucked it away in a hurry, and then forgot all about
what she had done."
"Did what?" Nigel asked dreamily.
"This! Look; it is part of a letter. Funny of Fulvia. I think I'll
see what it is about? 'N.B.—One line more. My dear fellow, you do not
really mean—' Oh! Oh, I say! Oh, Nigel! Oh!"
"What's the matter now?"
Daisy's eyes were round; her mouth was open. She could only articulate,
"Oh, I say!"
"Daisy, pray explain yourself. Don't be idiotic!"
"It's the lost postscript."
"Nonsense!"
"But it is! It must be! Look; it is, really! Half a sheet, and Mr.
Carden-Cox's handwriting, and it begins, 'N.B.,' and it says, 'My dear
fellow.' Look! That can't be Fulvia. And none of the other three was
to a 'fellow.' Ethel's and Fulvia's and mine were found. I know mine
was, because Mr. Carden-Cox let it out, though he made a secret of it
at first—I wonder why! But yours was never found, and Mr. Carden-Cox
has always declared it must have gone to Fulvia. He said she had put it
away somewhere, and forgotten. But I don't see how she could forget—do
you? Fulvia said she had never had it, you know."
Daisy held the half-sheet before Nigel's eyes.
"It's yours. I shall tell Fulvia. How could she be so stupid?"
Nigel received the paper from Daisy's hand, but looked at her instead
of it.
"Where did you find this?"
"In Fulvia's old dressing-box, hidden away behind the glass. Didn't you
hear me say so?"
"No. What business had you to examine it?"
Daisy was disconcerted.
"I—don't know. I thought I would read a word or two. I didn't think it
was anything, really, till I saw 'N.B.' and 'fellow.'"
"Another time you will act more honourably if you don't look at all."
"But Fulvia gave me leave to turn out her box. She did really, Nigel,
and she didn't say there were secrets."
Nigel was silent. He folded the half-sheet, unread, and put it into his
pocket. The next remark was—
"Daisy, you are not to say a word about this."
"Not tell Fulvia?"
"No. You are not to tell any one."
"Not even Mr. Carden-Cox?"
"Certainly not."
"But won't you tell him."
"No."
"Won't you speak to Fulvia?"
"That is for me to decide, not you. I forbid you to say one word!
Mind!—I mean it!"
"Of course I'll do what you wish," said Daisy reluctantly. "Only Mr.
Carden-Cox would have liked to know."
"It doesn't matter what Mr. Carden-Cox would or would not like. You are
to keep the thing to yourself."
Daisy gazed at him dubiously.
"Do you think—are you—?" she faltered. "Are you angry? Poor Fulvia!
I do wish I hadn't fished that stupid postscript out! After all this
time! I do wish I had not said a word to you."
"Nothing is gained in the end by concealment."
"No—poor Fulvia!—" applying the axiom to another, instead of herself.
"I wish she had spoken out. But perhaps she was afraid. She gets so
frightened now of doing anything you may not like. I never know Fulvia
could be a coward till lately. Are you very angry?"
"I am—" and a pause—"disappointed in Fulvia. I could not have thought
it possible."
"But I don't believe she meant to do wrong. Perhaps she forgot. Oh,
don't be vexed; because it is my fault."
"What! The finding of this?"
"Yes. If only I had not told!" Daisy actually burst into tears.
"There is no fault so far as you are concerned," Nigel said quietly.
"The finding was accidental. The hiding could not have been. But I
don't wish to discuss Fulvia's conduct with you, Daisy. I trust you not
to let it go any further. Now you can take these boxes away, and leave
me alone."
"But—if Fulvia asks—?"
"She will not. If she should, you may refer her to me."
Daisy gave him a frightened look of acquiescence, and caught up the
empty box.
Nigel carried the heavy full one upstairs for her, and then he
disappeared into the study.
"If only I had not found it! I wish I hadn't!" sighed Daisy.
Mr. Carden-Cox did not look particularly ill, but he proclaimed himself
so, and required much pity. Fulvia gave him some expression of it, to
the best of her power, while her thoughts wandered constantly to Nigel.
The first hour of talk was aimless. Then Mr. Carden-Cox arrived at the
point, with a jerk.
"So your madre allowed you to come! Didn't forbid it!"
"No."
"You made up a decent message from me, I hope."
"I told her you wanted me to do so."
"Humph! And she said—"
"Madre supposed that to be meant for an apology."
"Humph!" again. "Well, when she wants me she can send word."
"She is willing to see you now. You cannot expect more," Fulvia
retorted with spirit.
"That's your opinion! A chit of a girl like you! But you were brought
up among them. However—enough about that. I'm going to have my will
made."
"Yes."
"Leaving all I have to you."
Fulvia was silent.
"May be more, may be less, than folks expect. That's neither here nor
there. Not much use to expect gratitude in this world," pursued Mr.
Carden-Cox, with a moralising air. "If I did—but I don't! Do your duty,
and never mind what is said. That's my axiom!" It might be his axiom,
but it was not his rule of action, as Fulvia could have told him. "My
duty is plain now. If your fortune had come to you intact, you wouldn't
have needed my pittance. Ha! Things are different, and I mean to make a
difference."
"Where would your pittance have gone then?"
"Half to you—half to Nigel."
"Pray let it stand so, uncle Arthur. If you change at all, leave all to
Nigel."
Mr. Carden-Cox laughed.
"Why not? It comes to the same thing."
"Would, if you were married. Ceremony hasn't taken place yet!"
A chill shot through Fulvia at the implied suggestion.
"I would much rather that there should be no alteration," she repeated.
"And I would rather that there should be. I know what young men
are—and girls too! No, no! You've lost enough already through the
Brownings—through that scoun—Well, well, no need to say more. But I'll
secure this to you, hard and fast. Don't mean to lose another day. Why,
who knows?" demanded Mr. Carden-Cox, with a lively air. "Not one of us
may be alive a week hence!"
"Your money will not do me much good in that case."
He laughed again, and asked, "When is the wedding to take place?"
"I don't know. Nobody knows. How can you ask—now? Our trouble so new,
still! And people cannot marry upon nothing."
"I'll have a talk with Nigel. Don't like affairs dragging on
interminably. Sure to end by getting tired of one another."
Fulvia could have burst into tears; for there was an underlying
consciousness which gave a keen edge to his words, but she only said,
"A happy lookout for married life!"
"Oh, after you're married, it's different. Comes as a matter of course,
then, to put up with what can't be helped. Tied together, and no
escape, so no use to struggle. Well, I'll have a talk with Nigel, now
we're in smooth waters again. See if I can't bring it about. Wouldn't
need much additional, to set a young couple going."
"Uncle, please leave things alone; please do not interfere. Nigel will
not like it."
"Not like it! Fudge! He may do without liking. Not like it, indeed.
As if he didn't know me by this time! Don't be so squeamish, child;
and don't take to looking cross. It doesn't suit you. I didn't ask
your advice; don't need anybody's advice. We'll let that matter drop.
I say—nothing ever come to light all these weeks about the lost
postscript?"
"The lost postscript?" She spoke bewilderedly. The abrupt change of
ideas brought a moment's confusion.
"Nigel's postscript—the fourth 'N.B.,' you know—ha, ha!—Sent to you and
never found! Nothing heard of it all these weeks, hey?"
A vision of the past flashed up. Instantly Fulvia saw the crumpled slip
of paper, hidden away in her dressing-box. Daisy's parting request was
clear, with all that it involved.
Fulvia actually sprang to her feet, aghast. By this time, four o'clock,
Daisy might have found the concealed paper; and outspoken childish
Daisy would of a certainty proclaim her "find" to the household. Nigel
would hear of it! Already he might have heard; already the thing might
be done past recall. And if not yet, could Fulvia reach home in time to
stop its being done? She stood with dilated eyes, terror-struck. Mr.
Carden-Cox put up his eye-glass, and examined her curiously.
"Eh! What now! Sit down. Postscript found? Come, confess!"
Fulvia controlled herself to meet his gaze; but she could not control
the startled hurry of her voice.
"Something—I have remembered," she said rapidly. "Something I ought
to have done before leaving home it has just come to me. I must go at
once."
Fulvia did not mean to make any untrue statement. She scarcely knew
what she said! And that which she wished she had done was, definitely,
to have forbidden Daisy's meddling with her box.
"Nonsense, child. Sit down and be quiet. Something you ought to have
done! What do you mean? What ought you to have done?"
His black eyes examined her, with a look of suspicion.
"It doesn't matter what. I must go home. I am going home."
"The fly will be here at half-past five. You will have tea with me
first, of course. This 'something' must be of mighty importance. Fulvia
Rolfe is not a girl to be disturbed about nothing! Has it to do with
the lost postscript, hey?"
A natural question, since his mention of the postscript had been the
seeming cause of her sudden fright. She was so unnerved by the shock
she had received, that his suggestion renewed her trembling. She was
obliged to sit down, even while she reiterated, "I must go! I can't
stay! I must get home at once!" For she might still be in time.
"Stuff and nonsense!" Mr. Carden-Cox spoke angrily. "The girl is
demented. Fact is, it's one of two things. Either you are tired of
being here, and you want to get off the rest of the time, or you are
deceiving me about the postscript, and can't stand being questioned. I
believe it's that."
Fulvia seized on the first suggestion.
"I am not tired of being with you, but I can't endure to be away from
Nigel all Saturday afternoon," she said. The assertion was true enough,
though this had now ceased to be her prominent feeling. "Any other day
I should not mind, but Saturday—Saturday is his only free afternoon.
Uncle, do let me go. I will come another time, and stay as long as you
like. Monday, Tuesday, any day; only not Saturday. I always have him
then."
Mr. Carden-Cox grunted out a laugh, not ill pleased.
"You're a pair of model lovers!" he growled. "Well, have things your
own way. But the fly is not ordered till 5.30."
"Oh, I don't mind rain; I never catch cold. It will not take me long to
get home. And any other day—"
She did not finish her sentence, and could hardly wait to say good-bye.
Mr. Carden-Cox seemed in doubt whether to be amused or vexed by her
precipitate flight. He lent her an umbrella, and apologised for
the lack of a lady's waterproof. Fulvia had come in her best black
walking-dress, which would suffer from pelting rain. But what did she
care? What did anything matter, in comparison with getting home?
The distance had never seemed so great, and Fulvia had never traversed
it at such speed. She would not let herself think by the way.
Distracting possibilities presented themselves, and Fulvia refused to
look at them. Her arrival at home, dripping and forlorn, with flushed
face and bespattered skirt, was greeted by a triple exclamation from
Mrs. Browning and the girls, "Fulvia! Already!"
"Yes; I didn't want to stay any longer. Uncle let me off. Where is
Nigel?"
Fulvia dropped into the nearest chair, and Anice cried out at the
contact of her wet clothes with the furniture. Fulvia did not care for
that; but she did care for the curious questioning look in Daisy's
eyes, fixed upon herself.
"Why didn't he send you home in a fly?" asked Anice.
"I did not want to wait. Where is Nigel?"
"Downstairs."
"Not in the study; I have been there."
"Then he must have gone out. I heard the front door open and shut."
Fulvia rose, and dragged herself upstairs without another word. There,
on the chest of drawers, stood, as before, her two boxes. She tried
both with trembling fingers.
Too late! The new box was locked, the old one unlocked and empty! Daisy
had done her work.
Hoping still against hope, Fulvia loosened the looking-glass in the
lid, and peeped behind it. No crumpled paper was there. She snatched
her keys from the table drawer, and opened the other box, to see if
perchance Daisy had passed on the postscript with the trinkets. Daisy's
neat arrangements were tossed into reckless disorder in the search. But
Fulvia looked in vain; the half-sheet had vanished.
Too late! All her hurry and toil for nothing. And Nigel had gone out?
Had Daisy given him the paper? Sick with fear, Fulvia removed her wet
things, dressed herself in dry clothes, and smoothed her ruffled hair.
Then, on shaking limbs, she crept down to the study to await Nigel's
return, like a culprit awaiting judgment.
Daisy did not come to her. Anice found out where Fulvia was, and wanted
Daisy to bring her thence, but Daisy flatly refused to act messenger.
She did not wish to be questioned by Fulvia.
She needed not to fear. Fulvia was in too abject a state to question
anybody. The long-buried wrongdoing, almost forgotten by herself, had
found her out sharply. She saw her own action once again, as at first,
with Nigel's eyes, and she was overwhelmed with shame. Would Nigel cast
her off for this? Would he be glad to avail himself of the excuse?
Anice before long brought a summons to afternoon tea, and Fulvia,
refused to go.
"I want to wait for Nigel here. I am tired," she said. "Somebody can
bring me a cup, or I can go without. I don't want to be bothered."
The maid brought a cup, since Daisy would not. The laziness of the
latter was unaccountable in the eyes of Mrs. Browning and Anice, for
Daisy did not usually shirk trouble, like indolent Anice. But she
offered no explanation, only she would not go.
Fulvia stayed on in the study alone, leaning back in Nigel's
easy-chair, with his open book beside her, the picture of mingled
misery and self-condemnation.
From a quarter to five till a quarter to seven she waited, the longest
two hours that Fulvia had ever known. Nobody came near her for a while.
Then Mrs. Browning appeared, and wanted to know what was wrong. Fulvia
evaded her inquiries with a forced smile; she could see that Mrs.
Browning knew nothing of the postscript. But Daisy—why did not Daisy
appear, as on any other occasion Daisy's resolute avoidance of Fulvia
spoke palpably.
The front door opened at length, and Nigel came in. His hair was wet
and plastered, his coat damp; even a greatcoat had not served to
shelter him from the driving rain. For a moment he did not see Fulvia;
then their eyes met.
Fulvia knew at once that he knew, and he saw that she was aware of what
he knew. She hold out both hands, and said, "Nigel! Speak!"
"I did not expect you to be home so soon."
"No—I—could not bear it. I wanted to come back—to you. Nigel, say
something!"
"What do you wish me to say?"
"Will you forgive? I see that you have heard. Daisy has found the
paper. It was cowardice. I never thought at first—but—and after—how
could I speak?"
Nigel placed the little sheet in her hand.
"It is yours, not mine," she said.
"Daisy told me so. I have not read it. Daisy had no business to make
the discovery. But since she did—"
Fulvia gave the half-sheet to him, not lifting her eyes. She knew then
that he was reading; and presently she heard him tear it across.
"Will you forgive?" she whispered once more.
"Yes, of course."
"You mean—I don't understand."
"I mean that there is nothing for it but to take things in that way,"
he said gravely, after slight hesitation. "I could not have thought it
quite possible of you; but—"
"But you will not feel differently about me. You will trust—still. Say
you will forget—you will trust me still."
"That must depend. I will not speak of it. One can hardly promise to
forget. It is not feeling angry; don't misunderstand. But this sort of
thing gives rather a shake to one's confidence. How am I to know in the
future—?"
"Nigel! Think what a lesson to me it has been!"
"Yes, I hope so."
"But—" She sobbed aloud, with the longing for something more. "Oh, say
one kind word!"
"I think you are hardly reasonable," he said seriously. "It is not a
question of forgiveness at all. What I mind is not the thing itself,
but that you could do such a thing. That is what I could not have
believed. I have always felt, whatever else might be wanting, that was
not wanting. I could trust you, absolutely. And now—"
Fulvia could not speak.
Both were silent for a minute or two.
"We need never allude to this again," he said at length; and he went
away, leaving her alone.
Fulvia dragged herself to her own room, locked the door, and gave way
to a paroxysm of weeping. She could not appear at dinner; could not
show herself again that night.