"Good-night, and good-bye for the present, though I shall be coming over
to Coombesthorpe in a day or two. I am going home very early to-morrow
morning, before any of you good people will be stirring," said Sir
Philip to his cousins, when, all the guests save those staying in the
house having departed, these last were dispersing for the night.
"You're in a fidget about Aunt Anna," said Ermine. "I can see it,
Phil--you should have more trust in my assurances."
"I have--unlimited; still I shall be more comfortable when I have seen
her, I confess," he said.
"Well, come over as soon as you can," said Madelene. "You know," she
went on, "you haven't forgotten that our sister--Ella--is with us?"
There was a tone of constraint in her voice which Sir Philip perceived
at once.
"Poor Maddie," he thought, "she is too good to say so, but I can see--I
feel sure--that that child is a great torment to her." And "No indeed,"
he went on, "worse luck. I have not forgotten that fact."
"Phil!" Ermine exclaimed, but there was a mischievous look in her eyes
which would have puzzled her cousin had he seen it clearly.
"You should not be prejudiced, Philip," said Madelene gravely.
"But I am, and I can't help it," he retorted.
"At least you must own to some curiosity on the subject," said Ermine.
"You will come over soon?"
"Of course. I want to hear and ask scores of things," he replied. "No,
I am not curious at all, except so far as your comfort is concerned.
Have you found it possible to carry out my suggestion and keep her in
the schoolroom in the meantime?"
"Better still," said Ermine, her eyes dancing unmistakably. "We have
for the present relegated her to the _nursery_."
She dropped her voice somewhat, and glanced round her as if anxious not
to be overheard. Philip raised his eyebrows in surprise, but a look of
relief overspread his countenance at the same time.
"Oh, come," he said, "that's almost too good to be true! What a
phenomenon she must be--I am really beginning to feel curious. But I
mustn't keep you chattering here any longer. They'll all be wondering
what secrets we've got."
He was true to his word. The next morning, clear, cold and frosty, saw
him betimes on his way to Cheynesacre. He had taken it into his head to
walk over, leaving word that he would send for his luggage in the course
of the day, and in a modified degree carry out his original intention of
"surprising" his grandmother, by marching in upon her at her solitary
breakfast. For notwithstanding her unwonted dissipation of the night
before he felt pretty confident of finding Lady Cheynes at her usual
place at table at her usual hour of ten.
Nor was he disappointed. He had the satisfaction in the first place of
considerably startling the "Barnes" of the Cheynesacre establishment,
and leaving him aghast in the hall, walked coolly on into the
dining-room.
A bright fire was blazing on the hearth, the kettle was singing, the
round table with its snowy cloth was spread ready for breakfast, and at
it, reading her letters as usual, sat Lady Cheynes.
"Granny," said Philip in the doorway.
The old lady started.
"My boy," she exclaimed, "you must have got up in the middle of the
night, or perhaps you haven't been to bed at all, after your gay
doings."
"It strikes me, granny, that my gay doings are nothing to yours. I'm
glad to see you looking just like yourself, but it really was too bad of
you not to let me know in time last night that you were there."
He stooped to kiss Lady Cheynes as he spoke; she looked up with a smile.
"You were enjoying yourself; I didn't want to interrupt you. It was a
sudden thought of mine; I did not stay long," the old lady replied,
speaking less deliberately than her wont.
"I can't conceive what put it in your head to go at all," he said, as he
seated himself. "I'm tremendously hungry, granny. I walked over, and I
must send Symes for my luggage. I meant to have given you a surprise;
you didn't expect me till next week, did you?"
"No, of course not. I'm not very fond of surprises as a rule, but
still, as it has happened I'm glad you're here. It seems a shame to
begin working you the moment you arrive, but will you go over to
Weevilscoombe this morning for me to speak to Mr Brander about Layton's
lease? It will save me from writing a letter which after all would
probably not have made things clear."
Sir Philip tapped his boots with his cane reflectively.
"This morning?" he said. "I suppose to-morrow wouldn't do? I want to
go over to Coombesthorpe to-day if I can."
"I am afraid to-morrow would not do," said his grandmother. "I should
like you to be at Mr Brander's by twelve. I am going over to
Coombesthorpe myself, so I can tell them you will be there to-morrow.
Indeed I don't think Maddie and Ermine will be home till this evening.
_I_ am going to see their father, who has been seriously ill."
"And that child--I'm delighted to hear she _is_ such a child still,"
said Philip. "I suppose you look after her when the girls are away."
"Yes," said Lady Cheynes, dryly. "I do. But who told you she was `such
a child'?"
"Ermine. She said that not the schoolroom even, but the _nursery_ was
Ella's proper place," replied Philip, honestly believing that he was
literally repeating Ermine's words.
"Indeed!" said Lady Cheynes slightly raising her eyebrows.
Then the bell was rung and Sir Philip's dog-cart ordered to be round in
half an hour.
"In the meantime," said his grandmother, "if you will come to the study,
I will explain to you the points which I wish Brander clearly to
understand." Philip sauntered to the study.
"Granny is even more than commonly energetic," he said to himself, as he
stood at the window gazing out at the wintry landscape while he waited
for her. "However--I wonder if by any chance she knows anything about
that lovely little personage last night! She has such quick eyes, I
expect she noticed her--she could hardly have failed to do so. I expect
the small princess is in trouble about her shoe this morning! It looks
like a family heirloom."
He drew it out of his pocket and looked at it--yes, by daylight it
seemed even quainter. The satin was a rich creamy yellow, and the
buckle was of curiously antique form.
"Granny could tell the date to a year," he thought to himself. All the
same, he slipped the shoe back to its hiding place pretty sharply when
he heard the door handle turn and his grandmother enter the room.
He would have been rather astonished had he overheard the directions she
had just been giving to her trusty Jones.
"I don't wish Miss Ella to know of Sir Philip's return," she said.
"Take her her breakfast when she wakes--I told her to ring for it--and
tell her that the carriage will be round as soon as she is dressed. I
am going to drive back to Coombesthorpe with her, myself."
Then the old lady rejoined her grandson in the study and kept him
immersed in her instructions to Mr Brander, till his dog-cart was
announced.
"You will probably stay to luncheon with him," she said. "You may as
well, for you would not find me at home. I am going to lunch at
Coombesthorpe."
"Then tell them," Sir Philip began,--"oh no, by the by, you will not see
the girls?"
"Perhaps I shall--I may wait till they return."
"Tell them I shall be over to-morrow, then. They were looking very well
last night, didn't you think so? Ermine especially, Madelene looked
rather solemn--does that child worry her much, do you think, Granny?"
"If she does, it is Maddie's own fault," Lady Cheynes replied sharply.
"At least hers to some extent, and perhaps partly her father's. I find
Ella as reasonable as one could wish. I'm sure when she is alone with
me--" but here she suddenly checked herself.
"Is she ever alone with you? Do you have her here? Upon my word,
Granny, it's most self-sacrificing of you. But--you're not going to
have her here any more, I hope, not now I've come back?"
"How unselfish you are!" said his grandmother, with a smile, however,
that somewhat belied the satire of her words. "She is my god-daughter;
I have duties and responsibilities with regard to her."
Philip murmured something inaudible. But Lady Cheynes took no notice.
"You shouldn't keep the horse waiting, Phil," she said. "It is bitingly
cold."
"Good-bye then, till--dinner-time, I suppose?" he said as he went off.
He felt slightly dissatisfied. "Granny" had not seemed as pleased to
see him as she usually was after an absence; she had asked him nothing
about matters at Grimswell, where he had really been working hard, and
"going into things,"--the rectifying of abuses, the setting a-foot new
benevolent schemes, and so on--with fervour and energy which he had
scarcely known he possessed. He could and would of course talk it all
over with Granny when he got her to himself, that very evening probably,
but still--no, she had not been quite herself that morning, she was
"carried" and constrained. Perhaps there were troubles at Coombesthorpe
which he had not heard of; his grandmother had spoken rather snappishly
of Madelene.
"I do believe it's all that child," was the conclusion at which the
young man finally arrived. "I must get it all out of Granny and help to
smooth things a little if I can. I wonder,"--was his next thought--"I
wonder if Maddie noticed that girl or knew who she was."
He found the lawyer at home, but somewhat surprised to see him. Sir
Philip explained to him his unexpected return. Mr Brander, who had
known him from his infancy, pricked up his ears at the prospect of a
little local gossip.
"So you were in time for the Manor dance, Sir Philip. A very successful
affair I hear. My nephew,"--Mr Brander had a brother who ranked among
the small squirearchy--"my nephew looked in this morning on his way
home; he slept at his sister's--and he was full of it. He was telling
me all the details. I was delighted to hear that Lady Cheynes
chaperoned her nieces herself, though sorry to hear of the Colonel's
illness."
Philip looked surprised.
"Oh no," he said, "my cousins were staying in the house. What put it
into my lady's head to go I'm sure I don't know, but it was not as
chaperone to any one."
"Indeed," said his companion, "I must have misunderstood Fred then. But
he was quite clear about it--said that the youngest Miss St Quentin was
tremendously admired, bids fair in fact to, so to speak, outshine her
sisters. Of course there is the charm of novelty in her case; she is
quite a stranger in this neighbourhood."
Philip's brow contracted. Old Brander meant no harm, but his remarks
struck the young man as slightly free. Besides--what utter nonsense he
was talking!
"There is some absurd mistake," he remarked rather stiffly. "I don't
suppose you misunderstood your nephew, but he has got hold of some
nonsense. The youngest Miss St Quentin is still to all intents and
purposes a child; there could have been no question of her being at the
Manor last night."
In his turn Mr Brander looked surprised.
"Fred must be more exact in his statements," he said; "he must have
mistaken some one else."
And then as Philip proceeded to lay before him the papers and
explanations with which Lady Cheynes had furnished him, the conversation
took the turn of business and no more was said about Mrs Belvoir's
dance.
But a feeling of increasing mystification was left in Philip's mind.
"I cannot understand my grandmother's sudden freak last night," he
thought. "It is sure to make people gossip, especially if any one
noticed that she and I were never together the whole evening. The next
report will be that she and I have quarrelled--it would be no more
absurd than that Fred Brander's story about Ella St Quentin having been
the belle of the Manor ball!"
Ella was at that moment dressing as quickly as she could, having slept
till long after her usual breakfast hour and only awakened to be told
that as her godmother wished to drive over to Coombesthorpe for
luncheon, she had no time to spare. So her thick grey linsey frock was
donned again, and the fluffy masses of white tulle, slightly "tashed,"
as the Scotch say, but snowily pretty still, reconsigned by Jones's
careful hands to the tray of Ella's large basket trunk.
"It's very little the worse," said the maid. "If you just get Millannie
to iron it out the next time you want to wear it, Miss, it'll be as good
as ever. It is Millannie to do it, I suppose? You haven't a maid of
your own yet."
"No indeed," Ella replied. "Hester looks after me a little, and
Stevens, the second housemaid, mends my things. Melanie never does a
thing for me; she's always busy for my sisters."
"Never mind, Miss. It'll be different when you come to be counted quite
a grown-up young lady, which will be soon now, you'll see. And you did
enjoy yourself last night?"
"Oh indeed I did. It was--heavenly," said Ella with fervour. "And I do
thank you so much for getting my frock ready so beautifully, Jones. Now
I must run off, I suppose."
There was only one thing on her mind as she flew down stairs to her
godmother, but it was rather a big thing! A most extraordinary accident
had befallen her on leaving the Manor the night before. She had lost a
shoe! One of _the_ shoes. Clarice's shoes--which Lady Cheynes had kept
enveloped in silver paper for more years than twice Ella's whole life
could count, and only with much thought and hesitation had confided to
her little god-daughter for one evening. It was really dreadful. Yet
Ella could scarcely take blame to herself.
"They were much too big--especially that left foot one," she said to
herself. "I shall always think myself wonderfully clever for keeping
them on while I was dancing. And the buckles are not real. I am glad
of it, though I am afraid godmother will mind quite as much as if they
were."
Should she tell of the loss at once? She hesitated. She was not
cowardly, but she was very reluctant to cause pain to the old lady, and
it was perhaps needless to do so, as there seemed every probability that
the slipper would be found. If her godmother did not ask about them,
Ella decided that she would not speak of the shoes, and as soon as
possible she would find some way of making inquiry at the Manor.
"If Madelene and Ermine are not cross about my having been there," she
thought, "I'll get them to help me. They can't blame me when I tell
them exactly how it happened--it must have been just as I was getting
into the carriage. I remember one of the horses started a little and
godmother told me to be quick."
Lady Cheynes seemed to have forgotten all about the precious loan. She
was in a fidget to be off, congratulating herself on her cleverness in
having prevented her grandson and god-daughter meeting, or indeed having
any suspicion of each other's vicinity. For she had entered into the
spirit of the mystification thoroughly, as Ermine had said, and quite
agreed with her that it would be most amusing to witness Sir Philip's
astonishment when he should be presented to the little lady, of whom he
had so mistaken an idea.
"Don't let them meet, if you can possibly help it, auntie, till Phil
comes over to us," Ermine had said, to which Lady Cheynes had agreed.
"He is very prejudiced against her, I warn you," she had added. "I
doubt if he would ever have let himself even admire her if they had met
first in an ordinary way."
"That's just why," Ermine replied enigmatically, but Lady Cheynes asked
for no explanation.
Not much was said during the drive to Ella's home. The girl was still a
little sleepy, and rather nervous too when she thought of the shoe. And
her godmother seemed pre-occupied and slightly absent. Only once just
before they reached the Coombesthorpe lodge, she turned somewhat
abruptly to Ella.
"Then you did enjoy last night, my dear? It was worth the trouble?"
"Godmother," said Ella earnestly, "I enjoyed myself, _tremendously_. I
shall always thank you for having taken me, always, more than I can
say," and she held up her pretty face for a kiss. "I do hope," she
added after a moment's silence, "I do hope Madelene will not be vexed
about it. She surely won't be when she hears how it all was."
Lady Cheynes caught her up sharply.
"_Madelene_ vexed," she said. "My dear child what are you saying? Why,
how can you imagine Madelene would be vexed?--she will have been
delighted. And even supposing she had any such feeling, which is
impossible--really _impossible_, she knows her duty, the respect she
owes to her father, and I may say, to myself, far too well to resent
anything we approve." Ella did not venture to say anything in
disagreement, but in her heart she began to do her elder sister greater
injustice than ever heretofore: she began to doubt her sincerity.
Colonel St Quentin was better, was the news Barnes met them with, and
when the ladies' arrival had been announced to him, he sent word that he
would join Lady Cheynes in the library in five minutes.
"You need not stay with me, my dear Ella," said her godmother, "your
father and I will entertain each other till luncheon is ready and you
may like to get your things unpacked."
Ella never resented anything from her godmother, and set off to her own
room quite contentedly. A bright fire was burning in "the nursery" to
welcome her, and faithful Hester, on the pretext of unpacking, was
waiting eagerly to hear the young lady's adventures.
"Oh, how jolly of you to have a fire, you dear old thing," was Ella's
greeting. "Dear me, how strange it seems to be back again! Hester,
open my box quick and let me have a peep at my frock before you put it
away. I want to feel sure it wasn't all a dream."
"Then you enjoyed yourself, Miss Ella? Indeed, I can see you did," said
the old woman, as she carefully shook out the "_bovillonnes_" which had
so exercised Mrs Jones's mind. "Your dress isn't--not to say spoilt,
at all. It'll look as good as new for the next time."
"Next time indeed!" sighed Ella, "and when will that be, I wonder?
There was a gentleman there last night, do you know, Hester, that said I
reminded him of Cinderella? But Cinderella was luckier than I--she went
to _three_ balls, one after the other, and--"
But Hester interrupted her. She was peering anxiously into the trunk.
"Miss Ella," she said, "I can't see the fellow to this slipper nowhere.
They're not your own, are they? At least I don't remember packing them
up."
Ella's face grew grave.
"Oh dear," she exclaimed, "I had forgotten about it. I don't know what
to do," and the story was related to Hester.
"You must tell Miss Madelene--Miss St Quentin, about it, as soon as ever
she comes home, and I daresay she'll send to inquire at the Manor.
Dear--dear--it would be a pity if it were lost."
And the talking about it put other things out of the girl's head,
otherwise she might not improbably have gone on to tell Hester more
details about the ball and the unknown who had compared her to the old
fairy-tale heroine.
But the luncheon-bell interrupted her gossip with Hester. Ella found
her father already in the dining-room with Lady Cheynes.
"I'm so glad you're better, papa," she said, as she went up to kiss him,
her sweet face bright and eager.
"Yes, my dear. I'm glad of it myself. And you--why, Aunt Anna, she
looks like a robin-redbreast--as brisk and fresh as can be! Not at all
as if she had been dancing till I don't know what o'clock."
"Gaiety suits her apparently," said Lady Cheynes smiling. She was
delighted to see the beginning of a better understanding between the
father and child,--"and she was a very good girl, Marcus; I must do
justice to her. She stopped dancing,--though she owned that her partner
was most attractive--resolutely, when the time came for us to leave, and
neither by word or look hinted at wishing to stay longer."
"That's right," said Ella's father approvingly. "And what news of
Philip, aunt? Will he be turning up soon?"
"I expect to find him at Cheynesacre when I get back there this
afternoon," said the old lady.
Colonel St Quentin brightened up still more.
"Indeed! I am very glad to hear it. We must try to have a cheerful
Christmas--Ella's first among us too--" Ella smiled with
gratification--"Madelene and Ermie will be delighted to hear Philip is
back. You will be able to wait to see them this afternoon?"
Lady Cheynes hesitated.
"I fear not," she said, "the days are so very short now."
"And Phil arriving. Ah well--tell him to come over soon."
Ella left her father and his aunt to themselves again after luncheon,
but apparently they had not much more to say to each other, for she was
soon sent for to bid Lady Cheynes good-bye.
"And be a sensible child, my dear," were her godmother's parting words,
"don't begin fancying nonsense about Madelene. Let her and Ermine see
your father by himself when they come in this afternoon and he will tell
them all about it."
"Thank you, dear godmother," said Ella.
She seemed almost to cling to the old lady as if reluctant to let her
go.
"Poor child," thought Lady Cheynes as she drove off, "yes--there is much
good in her. She is very sweet and may certainly be led, even though
not driven. If only they don't all get at cross-purposes--I fear Maddie
is right--it was a mistake to separate her from them all."
It was nearly dark when the Coombesthorpe carriage, which had been sent
to the Manor to fetch the two sisters, drove up to their own door. Ella
who had spent the afternoon in restless Sittings about the house, unable
to settle to anything and anticipating half nervously the meeting with
Madelene and Ermine, was in the hall to receive them.
"Will you go to papa?" she said gently. "He is anxious to see you--he
is a good deal better. I shall have tea ready for you in the library in
a quarter of an hour, if that will do."
"Yes, thank you," said Madelene, and "That will do beautifully," Ermine
replied more heartily.
Ella's heart sank. She had honestly meant and wished to do her best.
"Madelene is _not_ going to be nice to me," she reflected.
The truth was that Miss St Quentin was feeling both anxious and
bewildered.
"Ermine," she said, pausing at the door of her father's room, "are you
going to tell papa about Philip's having been there last night?"
"No, I don't suppose there will be any approach to the subject. If Aunt
Anna has chosen to keep up the little mystification till to-morrow, it
would be rather impertinent for us to interfere. And Madelene, you are
not to begin blaming yourself to papa for having, as you say you did,
spoken crossly to Ella last night. It will just worry him and make
mischief. Just let him see, as I shall, that we were both heartily
pleased for her to have the pleasure."
Madelene sighed.
"I don't feel--" she began.
"Oh well, if you want to do penance, apologise to Ella. She looks very
meek and mild--I fancy she is in a mood of good resolutions, and for any
sake don't let Phil find us all at loggerheads."