The Aldworths were in a state of confusion. Mrs Aldworth was anxious;
Nurse Davenant was keeping the worst from her, but nevertheless she was
anxious. Molly and Ethel were so firmly desired on no account to give
themselves away, that they were absolutely excluded from the room. They
were loud in their denunciations of Nesta.
"Catch old Nesta getting herself into trouble," they said. "She has
just gone off on one of her sprees."
That was their first idea, but when they went to the Griffiths' house,
as the most likely place for the naughty Nesta to have taken herself to,
and were greeted by the news that Mr, Mrs, and Miss Griffiths had
started for Scarborough that morning, and that certainly no one else had
gone with them, their ideas were somewhat shaken; they really did not
know what to think. What was to be done? There was Mrs Aldworth
wanting Nesta, and asking for her from time to time.
"Where is the child?" she said.
Now, Mrs Aldworth was herself, with her own delicate fingers, making a
new blouse for Nesta. It was a very pretty one, of delicate pink silk,
with embroidery trimming it all round the neck and round the pretty
fancy sleeves. Mrs Aldworth wanted to try it on, and there was no
Nesta to be found. The other girls were slighter than Nesta, who was a
very buxom young woman for her years.
What was the matter? What was to be done? Still she was not seriously
alarmed, for Marcia managed to keep her mind at rest. Nesta was out,
she would be in soon.
But when lunch time came, and no Nesta appeared, Marcia sent a hurried
line to Angela to tell her that she might, after all, not be able to go
to Hurst Castle that day. She certainly would not leave the Aldworths
while they were in anxiety.
Angela had replied that she was coming into Newcastle, and would go and
pay the Carters a visit. She would wait for Marcia, and take her back.
It was late that evening when Angela did call for Marcia. She drew up
her little pony carriage outside the door; she had driven all the way
from Hurst Castle, but the ponies were fresh from their long rest in the
old Court Prospect stables. Angela waited in the porch.
"I won't come in to-night," she said to Susan. "Just go up and say that
Miss St Just is waiting."
Marcia came down. Her face was very pale.
"Oh, my dear Angela," she said. "Whatever will you think of me? What
is to be done? I have spent such a miserable day. We are all most
anxious."
"What?" said Angela, "haven't you found the truant yet?"
"No; we have searched high and low, all over the place. We don't want
to alarm people. We could, of course, send a telegram to father and
Horace, but we don't want to do that."
"She is evidently a very naughty girl," said Angela.
"I am afraid she is; she is terribly self-willed," said Marcia with a
sigh.
"I'm not a scrap uneasy about her," said Angela. "She is quite certain
to have taken care of herself. But what frets me is that you are
looking so white, dear. You want your holiday so badly."
"I can't really go with you to-night; I am ever so sorry, Angela, but it
is quite impossible."
"Then let me stay and help you."
"Oh, I can't do that!" but Marcia's eyes expressed a longing.
"Now, why shouldn't I stay?" said Angela. "I have always longed to see
Mrs Aldworth. You might bring me up to her, mightn't you?"
"I wonder if I dare?"
"Of course, you can, dear. Have I ever tired or frightened any one in
the whole course of my life?"
"You have been so shamefully neglected, dear, and what will your father
say?"
"I'll send him a wire telling him not to expect us to-night. Or, better
still, I'll send the carriage home with a note. He'll get it just when
he is expecting me, and he will be quite contented in his mind."
"Well, then, if you will, you can share my room."
"Certainly," said Angela lightly.
"You have been a long time at the Carters'," said Marcia.
"Yes, I have had a most interesting time."
"Your first visit to your old home."
"I hadn't much time to think of that, and I'm glad it is over. I shall
go there very often. What nice young people the Carters are."
Marcia opened her eyes.
"The two I saw--Jim and Penelope."
"Penelope--yes, there is a good deal in that child."
"I am her friend; I will tell you presently something, but not all,
about her. I am truly glad I went to-day. Now, if only I can help
you."
"You can, you shall; I think God must have sent you."
Marcia and her friend entered the house. They went into the library,
where Marcia ordered a meal for Angela, and then went upstairs. Molly
and Ethel were ready to dart upon her in the passage.
"What a long time you've been. Mother is beginning to cry. She says
that Nesta has deserted her shamefully. We daren't say that she is not
in the house. I was thinking," continued Molly, "of making up a little
story, and saying that she was in her bedroom with a headache; mother
couldn't be very anxious about that, could she?"
"You mustn't make up any such story. It wouldn't be right."
"Marcia, you are so over particular. Of course, you are not going to
Hurst Castle to-night."
"I am not."
"Is Miss St Just very sorry?"
"She is rather; but by the way, Molly, you might help me; Miss St Just
is spending the night here."
"Good gracious!" said Ethel, drawing herself up. "Yes; won't you two go
down and have a chat with her? I wish you would. She is going to see
mother presently. I think she will do mother a lot of good. Anyhow,
she is staying, and I must make up my mind what is to be done about
Nesta. If there are no tidings of her within the next hour or so, I
must send a telegram to father."
"We must make ourselves smart, first," said Ethel, turning to Molly.
"I suppose so," answered Molly.
They both went into their bedroom, the nice room which Marcia had
prepared for them, and considered.
"My white dress," said Molly--"oh, but there's that horrid stain on it.
I got it yesterday."
"Our pink muslins are quite fresh; we look very nice in pink, and two
dressed alike have always a good effect," was Ethel's suggestion.
Accordingly the pink muslins were donned, the raffled but pretty hair
was put into immaculate order, and the girls, their hearts beating a
little, went downstairs to entertain their distinguished guest. Of
course, she was distinguished. But she was going to stay in their
house--she was to be with them for a whole long, beautiful night. How
lovely! They could look at her and study her, and furtively copy her
little ways, her little graciousnesses, her easy manners, her
politeness, which never descended to familiarity, and yet put people
immediately at their ease. And better still, they could talk to their
friends about her and about what had occurred. When those upstart,
disagreeable Carters came back, what a crow they would have over them.
They were both in good spirits and forgot Nesta. Nesta was nothing but
a trouble-the-house. She would turn up when she pleased. She deserved
a sound whipping, and an early putting to bed; that was what she
deserved.
Molly entered the room first; Ethel followed behind. Susan had lit a
lamp, and the drawing room looked fairly comfortable. Angela was
standing by the open window. She turned when she saw the girls and came
forward to meet them.
"We're so pleased and proud to know you," began Molly.
"You are Molly, of course--or _are_ you Molly?" said Angela, glancing
from one girl to the other.
"We're awfully alike, you know," laughed Molly, "aren't we, Ethel? Yes,
I am Molly, and this is Ethel. We're not twins, but there's only about
a year between us. We're very glad to know you. Have you heard much
about us?"
"Of course I have, from Marcia, my greatest friend." Molly's eyes were
fixed in fascinated wonder and open admiration on her distinguished
guest. There was something intangible about Angela, something quite
impossible to define; she was made for adoration; she was made for a
sort of worship. Girls could never feel about her in the ordinary way.
These girls certainly did not. They looked at one another, and then
looked back again at Angela.
"Are you tired? Are you really going to stay the night here?" said
Molly at last.
"I will sit down if you don't mind. No, I am not tired."
"But you look so pale."
"I am always pale; I never remember having a scrap of colour in my
life."
"I think pale people look so interesting," said Ethel. "I wish Molly
and I were pale; but we flush up so when we are excited. I know I shall
have scarlet cheeks in a minute or two."
"That is because we are so glad to see you," said Molly.
"That is a very pretty compliment," laughed Angela. "But although I'm
not tired, I shouldn't mind going up to Marcia's room just to wash my
hands and take my hat off."
"We'll both take you," said Molly.
They were immensely flattered; they were highly pleased. Angela ran
upstairs as though she were another girl Aldworth, and had known the
place all her days. Marcia's room was immaculately neat, but it was
shabbily furnished; it was one of the poorest rooms in the house. Molly
earnestly wished that she could have introduced her guest into her own
room.
"I wonder," she said suddenly, "where you are going to sleep to-night?"
"With Marcia; she said so."
"Oh, but her bed is so small, you would not be comfortable. We'd be
ever so pleased if you--"
"But I prefer to sleep with Marcia, and this room is quite nice."
Molly ran to fetch hot water, and Ethel remembered that she had a silver
brush and comb which she always kept for visits which seldom occurred.
She rushed away to fetch it. Angela brushed her hair, washed her hands,
said that she felt as though she had been living with the Aldworths for
years, and ran downstairs again.
"How nice you are," said Molly; "we don't feel now as though we were
afraid of you."
"Afraid of me," said Angela. "Why should you be that?"
"Only, somehow, you belong to a better set."
"Please, don't talk nonsense," said Angela, with the first note of
wounded dignity in her voice. "I have come here to make myself useful.
Can I be useful?"
"It is so delightful to have you--"
"That's not the point; can I be useful?"
Molly looked puzzled.
"We'll have supper presently," she said. "I'll go and speak to Susan.
I'll be back in a minute."
She turned away. Of course, Angela could not be useful--the mere
thought was profanation. She had come there to be waited on, to be
worshipped, to be looked at, to be adored, Angela St Just, the most
beautiful, the most aristocratic girl in the entire neighbourhood!
Ethel drew nearer to Angela.
"I have been at Court Prospect to-day," said Angela.
"Why, that was your old place."
"It was."
"Did you find it much changed--_bourgeois_, and all that?" said Ethel.
"Nothing could really change the old place to me; but I would rather not
talk of what the Carters have done."
"I am sure it must have given you profound agony," said Ethel.
Angela faintly coloured, and then she said:
"Tell me about your little sister, the one about whom you are so
anxious."
"Oh, Nesta! Nesta's all right."
"Then she has come back?"
"No; she hasn't come back; we can't imagine where she is."
"Then how can you say she is all right?"
"She is always all right; she is the sort that turns up when you least
expect her. She is not specially good," continued Ethel, who felt that
she might revenge herself on Nesta's many slights by giving Angela as
poor an opinion of her as possible. She did not want Angela to like
Nesta better than her. She had dim ideas of possible visits for herself
to Hurst Castle. Could she possibly manage the dress part? She was
intensely anxious now to lead the conversation away from Nesta to more
profitable themes.
"You must have a good many people staying at Hurst Castle," she said.
"My uncle has some guests, naturally. But tell me about your sister.
When did she go?"
"I wish I could tell you. I don't know."
"You don't know? But surely you can guess!"
Molly came in at that moment. She had made a frantic effort to order a
supper which would be proper to set before so distinguished a guest. A
fowl had been hastily popped into the oven--that would be something.
People in Angela's class, for all Molly knew to the contrary, lived on
fowls.
"Molly, when did we see Nesta last?" asked Ethel.
"She was here at breakfast. I just saw her when she was rushing out of
the room. I was rather late. Why do you ask?"
"Miss St Just was anxious to know."
"We are all troubled about your sister," said Angela.
"Oh, I'm not troubled," said Molly.
"Nor I," said Ethel.
But Ethel was quick to read disapproval in Angela's soft eyes.
"I suppose we ought to be," she said abruptly. "Do you think there is
any danger?"
She opened her eyes wide as she spoke.
"I hope not; but, of course, she ought to be found. Then there is your
mother--the great thing is to keep your mother from fretting."
"We have managed that, for Marcia, old Marcia--I mean _dear_ Marcia,--is
so clever about mother."
"She is clever about everything. I wonder if you know what a very
remarkable sister you have got." Marcia rose by leaps and bounds in
both the girls' estimation. If she was remarkable, and if Angela,
beautiful, bewitching Angela, said so, then indeed there must be
something to be proud of, even in old Marcia. Ethel remembered how she
had nicknamed her Miss Mule Selfish, and a nervous desire to giggle took
possession of her, but she suppressed it.
"I wish I could tell you," said Angela, "all that Marcia has been to me;
how she has helped me. And then she is such a wonderful teacher. My
aunt, Mrs Silchester, never ceases to lament her having left the school
at Frankfort, I understand that she came here to help you girls."
"Oh, no; she didn't," said Molly, her face becoming crimson, "she came
home to look after mother."
"You mean to help you to look after her, isn't that so?"
"Yes, of course. Oh, dear Miss St Just, aren't you very tired? I know
you are, even though you say in that pretty way that you are always
pale, I know you are weary."
"I'm all right, thank you; I really am."
Just then Marcia entered the room.
"Angela," she said, "we shall have supper presently, and afterwards you
shall come up and see mother."
"Oh, Marcia, do you think it well?" said Ethel, who looked very pretty
with her flushed cheeks and bright eyes.
"I should like to go," said Angela. "Do you think I should harm her?"
No; it would be impossible for such a creature as Angela to harm any
one, even if that person were seriously ill; there was repose all over
her, sweetness, tenderness, sympathy, where sympathy was possible. But
Ethel and Molly, notwithstanding their efforts, did not feel that Angela
truly sympathised with them. The moment Marcia came in they began to
see this more clearly.
"What are you doing about Nesta?" she said immediately.
"If we don't know by nine o'clock, I must wire to father."
It was just at that moment that there came a ring at the front door, a
sharp ring. Ethel felt her heart beating; Molly also turned first red
and then pale.
"That sounds like a telegram," said Molly, and she rushed into the hall.
It was; it was addressed to Marcia Aldworth. She tore it open and read
the contents.
"I'm all right; expect me when you see me. Nesta."
There was no address; but it was plain that the telegram had been sent
from Scarborough. Marcia sank on to the sofa. Molly bent over her;
Ethel peered at the telegram from the other side.
"There, didn't I say she was about the--"
"Please, Angela, will you come with me into the next room?" said Marcia.
She left the telegram for her two sisters to devour between them, and
took Angela away. The moment they were alone, Marcia sank down on a
chair; tears rose to her eyes--she did not know that they were there--
one overflowed and rolled down her cheek. Angela looked at her
steadily.
"It is quite hopeless," she said. "Think of her doing that!"
"Doing what? Remember I have not seen the telegram."
"She says she is all right, and we are to expect her when we see her.
She has gone to Scarborough; she has run away. She is with the
Griffiths, of course. What is to be done with a girl of that sort?"
"Marcia, you are wearing yourself out for them."
"I am, and it is hopeless. What am I to say to mother? How am I to put
it to her?"
"You must tell her that Nesta will not be back until the morning; that
she is quite safe. In the morning you must tell her the truth."
"How can I possibly tell her the truth?"
"You must."
"Oh, Angela! it is hopeless; those girls seem to have no hearts. I did
think after mother was so ill that they had turned over a new leaf; I
was full of hope, and Nesta seemed the most impressed; but see what this
means. She has gone away; she has left us all in misery. What a day we
have had! and now, at the eleventh hour, when she thought we could not
possibly send for her, she sends this. What am I to do?"
"You must just go on hoping and praying, and trusting and believing,"
said Angela. "My dear Marcia, twenty things ought not to shake a faith
like yours."
"Well, at any rate, she is not in bodily danger; but what a terrible
revelation of her character! She must have planned all this. She knew
that father was away, and that Horace was away, and she fully expected
that I should also be away. She had a kind of vague hope that the girls
would not open the telegram. You see how she has laid her plans. She
knows in the end she must be recalled, but she is determined to have as
much pleasure as she can."
"Marcia," said Molly, putting in her head at that moment, "supper is
ready. Shall we go in?"
They went into the dining-room. Angela ate little; she did not perceive
the efforts the two younger Aldworths had made in her honour; the
presence of the best dinner service, the best glass, the fact that the
coffee--real Mocha coffee--was served in real Sevres china. She ate
little, thinking all the time of Marcia, who was as unobservant of
external things as her friend.
"Now, you will come up to see mother," said Marcia, when the meal was
over.
"Yes; let me. I will tell her about Nesta--I mean as much as she need
know to-night."
Marcia took her friend upstairs. Mrs Aldworth was tired. Her day had
not been satisfactory, and she still wanted that one thing which she
could not get--the presence of her round, fair, apparently good-natured
youngest daughter. When Marcia opened the door, she called out to her:
"Dear me, Marcia! I thought you were going?"
"No, mother; I am not going to-night."
"Has Nesta come back? We should have plenty of time, if you light that
pretty lamp and put it near me, to try the effect of the new blouse. I
am so anxious to see if it will fit."
"I have just got an account of Nesta; she is all right, mother; she will
be back to-morrow," said Marcia. "So I am going to stay with you; and,
mother, may I introduce you to my friend, Angela St Just? Angela, this
way, please. Mother, this is Angela, my great friend." Mrs Aldworth
had been on the eve of crying; on the eve of a fit of nervous anxiety
with regard to Nesta; but the appearance of Angela seemed to swallow up
every other thought. She flushed, then turned pale, then held out her
hand.
"I am glad to see you," she said.
Angela dropped into a chair.
"Just run away, Marcia," she said. "Leave me with Mrs Aldworth. Oh,
Mrs Aldworth, I'm so glad Marcia let me come in. I have been longing
to come to you--often and often. I have been so sorry for you; I have
been thinking what a weary time you must have; I hope you will let me
come often as long as I am near; I should like it so much."
The sweet eyes looked down into the faded face of the elder woman. They
seemed somehow to have a magical power to arrest the finger of time, to
erase the wrinkles, to smooth out some of the constant pain. Mrs
Aldworth smiled quite gladly.
"How nice you are," she said, "and not a bit--not a bit stuck-up. I am
so glad to make your acquaintance. Sit there and talk to me."
Angela took a chair and she did talk--all about nothings, _perhaps_
about nothings; but she still talked and Mrs Aldworth listened.