was only natural, conversation at once turned on the proposed visit to
London. Peggy was too much perturbed to speak, but Mellicent put the
very inquiry which she most wished answered, being never troubled with
bashfulness in asking questions.
"Has your mother's tooth been hurting her very much, Rosalind?"
"Tooth! what tooth? Oh, I think she did have a little twinge one night;
but it's not the dentist whom she is really going to see. That's only
an excuse. She really wants to go to some parties," said Rosalind
lightly; whereat her brother scowled at her under heavy brows.
"What business have you to say that? What can you know about it, pray?
If mother says she is in pain, it is not for you to contradict, and make
up your own explanations. Leave her to manage her own affairs--"
He spoke rapidly, but Rosalind only shrugged her shoulders, and
whispered something in Max's ear, at which he smiled and nodded his
head, evidently taking her part against her brother, to Peggy's intense
indignation.
No words were exchanged between the partners on the subject of the
calendar until they were once more at home; when Robert took advantage
of the first quiet opportunity, and came up to Peggy with a face of set
determination.
"Mariquita!" he said, "_I_--_am_--_not_--_going_--_to give in_! If you
stick to me, we can still manage to get the calendar off in time. There
are twenty more quotations to be found. I'll sit up to-night and fix
them off, and go on writing as long as I can keep awake, but I can't
take a dozen books up to town with me, so I must leave it to you to
finish up. I'll mark the passages I choose, write the full address on a
piece of paper, and leave everything ready for you to make up the
parcel. All you will have to do will be to write the remaining cards,
and to see that it is sent off on Friday. Five o'clock will be time
enough, but if you can get it off in the morning, so much the better.
You think you can manage as much as that?"
"Oh yes! I'd do anything rather than give up now. It would be too
grudging. I am not afraid of a little more work."
"You have done more than your share already. I am mad about it, but it
can't be helped. I couldn't refuse to go with the mater, and I wouldn't
if I could. She is really not at all strong, and does not like the life
down here. It will do her good to have a few days' change."
Peggy looked at him steadily. She did not speak, but her eyes grew soft
and shining, and there was something at once so sweet, so kindly, and so
gentle in her expression that Rob exclaimed in surprise--
"I say, Peggy, you--you do look pretty! I never saw you look like that
before--what have you been doing to yourself?"
"Doing!" Peggy straightened herself at that, in offended dignity.
"Doing, indeed! What do you mean? Don't you think I am pretty as a
rule?"
"Never thought about it," returned Robert carelessly. "You are Peggy--
that's enough for me. A nice state I should be in to-day if it were not
for you! You are the jolliest little brick I ever met, and if I get
this prize it will be far more your doing than my own."
Well, that was good hearing! Peggy held her head high for the rest of
that evening, and felt as if nothing would have power to depress her for
the future. But, alas, when the pendulum is at its highest it begins to
swing downwards. Peggy's heart sank as she watched Robert drive away
from the door the next morning, and it went on sinking more and more
during the next twenty-four hours, as she realised the responsibility
which weighed upon her shoulders. When she came down to breakfast on
Friday morning the calendar was finished and ready to be made up for the
post, but her head was splitting with pain as the result of the long
hours' work stolen from sleep, and a dead weight of depression had
settled on her spirits. It seemed of a sudden that all this work and
effort was waste of time; that the chances of being successful were
infinitesimally small; that even if it were gained, the prize was of
little value; that if Robert's absence for four days made such a
difference in the life at the vicarage, it would become altogether
unbearable when he said good-bye at the beginning of the year and went
up to Oxford; that she was a desperately unfortunate little unit, thrust
into the midst of a family which was complete in itself, and had only a
kindly toleration to offer to a stranger; that, in all probability,
there would shortly be a war in India, when her father would be killed,
her mother die of a broken heart, and Arthur be called out to join the
ranks of the recruits. She conjured up a touching picture of herself,
swathed in crape, bidding good-bye to her brother at the railway
station, and watching the scarlet coat disappear in the distance, as the
train steamed away. It was all most miserable and picturesque, and
outside the fog gathered, and the rain poured down in a fine, persistent
drizzle. It was one of those typical November days when it seems as if
the earth itself is in the blues, and that it becomes everyone living on
its surface to follow its example.
When afternoon came Peggy curled herself in an arm-chair in the corner
of the study, and stared gloomily at the fire. It was four o'clock. In
another hour the postman would call for the letters, and she would
deliver the precious packet into his hands. She had made it up in the
dinner-hour, with some faint idea of carrying it to the village; but she
was tired, the rain poured, and Rob had said that the afternoon post
would do. She had given up the idea of going out, and taken a nap
instead on the top of her bed. And now it was four o'clock. Mellicent
called out that she was dying for tea-time to come; it had seemed such a
long, long day; they really ought to have tea earlier on these dreary,
murky afternoons. "_I want my tea_!" she chanted, in shrill,
penetrating tones, and instantly the refrain was taken up by the other
voices, and repeated over and over again with ever-increasing volume,
until the mistress of the house rushed in to discover the reason of the
clamour.
"Bless your hearts, you shall have it at once!" she cried. "I'll ring
and have it brought in, and ransack my cupboards to see what treats I
can give you. Poor dears, it _is_ dull for you sitting indoors all day
long. We must think of some bright, exciting games for this evening."
No sooner said than done; she did not wait until Mary appeared, but
bustled off to meet her, to enlist the cook's sympathy, and put out the
promised delicacies, and when the table was set she returned to the room
and seated herself, smilingly, in Esther's place.
"I am going to stay with you this afternoon," she said brightly. "Draw
up your chairs, dears, and let us be jovial. There is no credit in
being happy when the sun is shining, as dear old Mark Tapley would have
said; but it will really be praiseworthy if we succeed in being festive
this afternoon. Come, Peggy, dearie!"
Peggy turned her dreary little face and stared at the table. From
outside came the sound of the opening and shutting of the door, of
footsteps in the hall. She glanced at the clock, wondering if it could
possibly be the postman already, found it was only ten minutes past
four, and dismissed the supposition with a sigh. "I don't--think--I
want--" she was beginning slowly, when, of a sudden, there came a
tremendous rat-tat-tat on the schoolroom door; the handle was not
turned, but burst open; a blast of chilly air blew into the room, and in
the doorway stood a tall, handsome youth, with square shoulders, a
gracefully poised head, and Peggy Saville's eave-like brows above his
dancing eyes.
"Oh, what a surprise!" came the cry in loud laughing tones. "How do you
do, everybody? Just thought I would step in as I was passing, and have
a cup of tea, don't you know."
"My boy! My boy! Oh, how good to see you!" cried Mrs Asplin
rapturously. Mellicent gurgled with surprise, and Peggy stood up by her
chair and stretched out both arms like a child to its mother.
"Arthur!--oh--Arthur!" she gasped, and there was a pathos, a longing, an
almost incredulous rapture in her voice which made the tears start in
Mrs Asplin's eyes, and brought a cloud of anxiety over the new-comer's
face.
"Why, Peg!" he cried. "My little Peg! Is something wrong, dear? You
look as melancholy as--"
"Peggy has not been like herself for the last few weeks. I think she
has had an attack of homesickness and longing for her own people. I'm
so glad you've come. You will do her more good than a dozen tonics.
Bless the boy; how big he is! And how did you manage to get away, dear,
and how long can you stay? Tell me all about it. I am consumed with
curiosity--"
"I can stay till Monday or Tuesday, if you can put me up; and I came
away because I--I suppose I am not quite up to the mark. My head
bothers me. It aches, and I see black specks floating before my eyes.
The doctor advised me to knock off for a few days, and I thought I would
rather come here than anywhere."
"I should think so, indeed. Of course we can put you up--proud and
pleased to do so. Well, this is a pleasant surprise for a dull November
day! You couldn't have had a better one if you had had a hundred
wishes, could you, Peggy? You won't feel melancholy any longer?"
"I'm just enraptured! Saturday, Sunday, Monday--three whole days and
two halves, as good as four days--almost a week! It's too delicious--
too utterly delicious to realise!"
Peggy drew deep sighs of happiness, and hung on to Arthur's arm in an
abandonment of tenderness which showed her in a new light to her
companions. She would not loosen her grasp for a moment, and even when
seated at the table kept her fingers tightly locked round his arm, as
though afraid that he might escape.
As for Arthur himself, he was in the wildest spirits. He was as
handsome a young soldier as one could wish to see, and his likeness to
Peggy seemed only to make him more attractive in the eyes of the
beholders.
"Hurrah!" he cried cheerily. "Hurrah, for a good old vicarage tea!
Scones? that's the style! Mary made them, I hope, and put in lots of
currants. Raspberry jam! I say, mater, do you remember that solemn
waitress you had, who told you that the jam was done again, and when you
exclaimed in horror, said, `Yes, 'um, it's not a bit of good buying
raspberry jam. _They like it_!' Ha, ha, ha! I've often thought of
that! That looks uncommonly good cake you have over there. Thank you,
I think I will! Begin with cake, and work steadily back to bread and
butter--that's the style, isn't it, Peggums? Esther, I looks towards
you! Mellicent, you are as thin as ever, I see. You should really do
something for it. There are regular hollows in your cheeks."
"Nasty, horrid thing! You are always teasing! How would you like it if
you were struck fat yourself?" cried Mellicent, aggrieved. But, in
spite of herself, her chubby cheeks dimpled with smiles as Arthur rolled
his eyes at her across the table, for there was something irresistibly
fascinating about this young fellow, and it was like old times to see
him seated at the tea-table and to listen to his merry rattling voice.
"The dominie must grant a general holiday to-morrow," he declared, "and
we will do something fine to celebrate the occasion. We'll have out
this wonderful camera in the morning and take some groups. You and I
must be taken together, Peggy, to send out to the parents. You promised
to send me copies of all the things you took, but you are as false in
that respect as the whole race of amateur photographers. They are grand
hands at promising, but they never, by any chance--Hallo! What's that?
My cup over? Awfully sorry, mater, really! I'll put a penny in the
missionary-box. Was it a clean cloth?"
"Oh, my dear boy, don't apologise! I should not have felt that it was
really you if you had not knocked your cup over! To see the table-cloth
swimming with tea all round convinces me that it is Arthur himself, and
nobody else! Tut, tut! What does a table-cloth matter?" And Mrs
Asplin beamed upon her favourite as if she were really rather delighted
than otherwise at his exploit.
It was a merry, not to say noisy, meal which followed. Peggy's lost
spirits had come back with the first glimpse of Arthur's face; and her
quips and cranks were so irresistibly droll that three separate times
over Mellicent choked over her tea, and had to be relieved with vigorous
pounding on the back, while even Esther shook with laughter, and the
boys became positively uproarious.
Then Mr Asplin came in, and Arthur was carefully concealed behind the
window-curtains, while he was asked whom he would most like to see if
the choice were given him. In provoking manner he mentioned at once a
brother in Australia, and, when informed that relatives were not on the
list, recollected an old college chum who was out in the Mauritius.
"Oh dear, what a stupid man!" cried his wife in despair. "We don't mean
the friends of your youth, dear! Think of the last few years and of
your young friends! Now, if you could choose, whom would you--"
"Arthur Saville!" said the vicar promptly, upon which Arthur made a
loophole between the curtains and thrust his mischievous face through
the gap, to the vicar's amazement and the uproarious delight of the
onlookers. A dozen questions had to be asked and answered about
studies, examinations, and health, while Peggy sat listening, beaming
with happiness and pride.
It came as quite a shock to all when the vicar announced that it was
time to dress for dinner, and Mrs Asplin looked at Peggy with an
apologetic smile.
"We were all so charmed to see Arthur that I'm afraid we have been
selfish and engrossed too much of his attention. You two will be
longing for a cosy little chat to yourselves. If you run upstairs now,
Peggy, and hurry through your dressing, there will be a little time
before dinner, and you could have this room to yourselves."
"Yes, run along, Peg! It won't take me ten minutes to get into my
clothes, and I'll be here waiting for you!" cried Arthur eagerly. And
Peggy went flying two steps at a time upstairs to her own room.
The gas was lit; the can of hot water stood in the basin, the towel
neatly folded over the top; the hands of the little red clock pointed to
six o'clock, and the faint chime met her ear as she entered.
Peggy stood still in the doorway, an icy chill crept through her veins,
her hands grasped the lintel, and her eyes grew wide and blank with
horror. There, on the writing-table lay a brown paper parcel--the
precious parcel which contained the calendar which had been the object
of such painful work and anxiety!
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
PEGGY IS LOST.
Arthur Saville waited in vain by the schoolroom fire, for his sister did
not join him. And when he entered the dining-room in response to the
summons of the gong, she had not yet made her appearance.
Mrs Asplin looked at him with uplifted brows.
"Where is Peggy?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her since she went upstairs. The little
wretch can't have hurried very much."
"She hasn't been with you, then! Never mind, there is plenty of time to
come. She must be making a special toilet for your benefit."
But when the first course was nearly over and the girl had not yet
appeared, Mrs Asplin grew impatient, and despatched the servant to
hasten her movements.
"Just tell her that we have been at table for nearly ten minutes. Ask
if she will be long."
Mary left the room, was absent a short time, and came back with an
extraordinary statement.
"Miss Peggy is not in her room, ma'am."
"Not in her room! Then she must have come downstairs. Perhaps she
didn't hear the gong. Just look in the schoolroom, Mary, and in the
other rooms too, and tell her to come at once."
Another few minutes passed, and back again came Mary, looking flushed
and mysterious.
"I can't see Miss Peggy anywhere, ma'am. She has not come downstairs."
"You have looked in the drawing-room--Mr Asplin's study?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did you go upstairs again?"
"No, ma'am. I had looked there before."
"Esther dear, you go!" cried Mrs Asplin quickly. "Bring her down at
once! What in the world is the child doing? It's most extraordinary!"
"She's not given to playing games of hide-and-seek just at dinner-time,
is she?" asked Arthur, laughing. "I am never surprised at anything
Peggy does. She has some little prank on hand, depend upon it, and will
turn up in good time. It's her own fault if she misses her dinner."
"But it's so extraordinary! To-night of all nights, when you have just
arrived! I wish the child would come!" replied Mrs Asplin, craning her
neck forward to listen to the cries of "Peggy! Peggy!" which came from
the upper storey.
The door stood open, and everyone ceased talking to follow Esther's
footsteps to and fro, to count the opening and shutting of doors--one,
two, three, four, five--to look apprehensively at each other as the
messenger returned--alone!
"Mother, she is not there! I've looked everywhere--in every corner--and
she has not changed her dress, nor washed, nor anything. The room looks
exactly as if she had never gone in; but she did, for we all followed
her upstairs. I looked over the wardrobe, and all her dresses are
there, and the can of hot water is untouched, and the gas left full up."
"Oh dear, what can have happened?" Mrs Asplin pushed back her chair
and stood up, looking anxious and puzzled. "I cannot rest until she is
found! I must look myself! Go on with dinner, all of you; I won't be
long. Where can the child be hiding herself?"
"Don't worry, mater!" said Arthur kindly. "It's very tiresome of Peggy
to disappear at such an inopportune moment, but no harm can have
happened to her, you know. It's impossible! As I said before, she has
probably some wild prank in her head of which this is a part. I'll give
her a lecture when I catch her for spoiling dinner like this, and such
an uncommonly good dinner too!" And Arthur smiled in cheery fashion,
and tried his best to keep up the failing spirits of the company by
chatting away while his hostess was out of the room, as if nothing had
happened which was the least unusual or alarming.
When Mrs Asplin returned, however, after a lengthened absence, there
was a simultaneous rising from the table to listen to her report.
"She is not in the house! Jane began at the top and I began at the
bottom, and we searched every hole and corner. I have looked in the
very cupboards and wardrobes! I even searched the cistern-room, but she
is not to be found. I don't know what to do next. It seems impossible
that she can have disappeared--yet where can she be?"
"Have you looked in the cloak-room to see if any of her outdoor things
are missing?"
"I went in, but I never thought of looking at her clothes. Outdoor?
What on earth should take the child out at this hour in the dark and
rain?"
"I can't tell you that, dear, but we must think of every possibility.
Esther, you know best what Peggy had in the cloak-room--see if anything
is missing. Mellicent, run upstairs and find if any hats or jackets
have been taken from their places. If she is not in the house, she must
have gone out. It was most thoughtless and foolish to go without asking
permission, and at such an hour; but, as Arthur says, there is not much
chance of any harm befalling her. Try not to work yourself up into a
state of anxiety, dear; we shall soon find your truant for you. Well,
Esther, what is it?"
"Her mackintosh has gone, father, and her red tam-o'-shanter, and her
snow-shoes. Her peg is next to mine, and there is nothing on it but her
check golf cape."
"She has gone out, then! What can it mean?--to-night of all nights,
when she was so happy, when Arthur had just arrived, when she promised
to be downstairs in ten minutes--"
"It is most extraordinary! It must have been something of great
importance, one would say. Does anyone know if Peggy had any special
interest on hand at present? Was there any gift which she wished to
buy? It does not happen to be anyone's birthday to-morrow, does it?
Yours, Arthur, for instance? No? The birthday of a school-friend,
then? She might suddenly have remembered such an occasion, and rushed
out to post a letter--"
"But there is no post until to-morrow morning, so she would gain no time
by doing that. The postman called at five o'clock, and the letters were
on the hall-table waiting for him as usual. I do not know of any work
that she had on hand, but the girls have complained that she has spent
all her spare time in her room lately, and when I spoke to her about it
she said she was writing--"
"Perhaps she is writing a book," suggested Mellicent thoughtfully. "She
says she is going to be an authoress when she grows up. I think Robert
knew what she was doing. They were always talking together and looking
over books, and I heard him say to her, `Bring me all you have finished,
to look over.' I said something to her about printing some photographs
for Christmas cards, and she said she could do nothing until after the
nineteenth."
"The nineteenth!" echoed the vicar sharply. "That is to-day. We gather
from that, then, that Peggy had been busy with work, either by herself
or in conjunction with Robert, which had to be completed by to-day.
Nobody has the least idea of what nature it was? No? Then I shall go
to Robert's room and see if there is anything lying about which can give
me a clue."
"I'll go with you, sir," said Arthur, who was beginning to look a little
anxious and uneasy, as the moments passed by and brought no sign of his
sister; but, alas, the scattered papers on Rob's table gave no clue to
the mystery!
When one is endeavouring to find a reason why a girl should mysteriously
disappear from her home, it does not help very much to find a few slips
of paper on which are written such items as "Tennyson's Poems, page 26,"
"Selections from British Authors, 203", "Macaulay's Essays, 97,"
etcetera.
Arthur and Mr Asplin looked at one another, puzzled and disappointed,
and had no alternative but to return to the dining-room and confess
their failure.
"Would not it be a good thing to go up to the Larches, and hear what
Robert has to say on the subject?" Arthur asked; and when he was told
that Robert was in London he still held to his suggestion.
"For someone else in the house may know about it," he declared. "Rob
may have confided in his mother or sister. At the worst we can get his
address, and telegraph to him for information, if she has not returned
before we get back. She might even have gone to the Larches herself
to--to see Rosalind!"
"Peggy doesn't like Rosalind. She never goes to see her if she can help
it. I'm quite sure she has not gone there," said Mellicent shrewdly.
"It is more likely she has gone to Fraulein's lodgings to tell her about
Arthur. She is fond of Fraulein."
The suggestion was not very brilliant, but it was hailed with eagerness
by the listeners as the most probable explanation yet offered.
"Then I'll tell you what we will do. I'll go off to the Larches," cried
Arthur, "and one of you fellows can see Fraulein, and find out if Peggy
has been there. We must try every place, likely and unlikely. It is
better than sitting here doing nothing."
Max frowned and hesitated. "Or--er--or you might go to Fraulein, and
I'll take the Larches! It is a long walk for you after your journey,"
he suggested, with a sudden access of politeness, "and there seems more
probability that Fraulein may be able to help us. You could go there
and back in a short time."
"Just as you like, of course. It is all the same to me," returned
Arthur, in a tone which plainly intimated that it was nothing of the
sort. Mrs Asplin looked from one to the other of the flushed faces,
realising that even in the midst of anxiety the image of beautiful,
golden-haired Rosalind had a Will-o'-the-wisp attraction for the two big
lads; but her husband saw nothing of what lay behind the commonplace
words, and said calmly--
"Very well, then, Max, be off with you as fast as you can go. Find out
if Robert has said anything about the work which he has had on hand;
find out his address in town, and, if possible, where a telegram would
reach him this evening. Arthur will call at Fraulein's lodgings; and,
Oswald, you might go with him so far, and walk through the village. Ask
at old Mrs Gilpin's shop if Miss Saville has been there, but don't talk
about it too much; we don't want to make more fuss than we can help.
Keep your eyes open!"