SUNBEAM.
Mrs. Richmond sailed for the Cape on the following Monday; sending a
telegram to her daughters to announce her departure just before she
left England; and on the following Wednesday evening Miss Roy came
back.
Miss Roy had been in the Richmond family for five years. She was a
woman of about forty years of age, extremely kind, most faithful, most
devoted to the interests of her employer, and most affectionate to her
little charges. She was not a finishing-governess by any means. But
she was just the sort of useful person who could be invaluable in
times of difficulty or distress. Mrs. Richmond felt that in her absence
Miss Roy would act almost as a mother to her children, and she went
away happily in consequence.
The good governess had debarred herself from a whole fortnight of her
usual holiday to meet this time of need.
Nora, Kitty, and Nancy hailed her return with delight; and Augusta,
who in her heart of hearts regarded her as a tiresome, tyrannical old
maid, was equally loud in her affectionate expressions on the night of
her return.
On the following day Captain Richmond asked Miss Roy to have a private
interview with him. No one was better pleased than he that she should
come back to help him in the management of his battalion, as he still
in fun called the four girls.
“Well, sergeant,” he said, coming into the schoolroom, and speaking in
as cheerful a manner as possible, “I want to talk over things with
you.—Soldiers, I must deprive you of your sergeant for a short
time.—This way, please, Sergeant Roy.”
He opened the door as he spoke, and Miss Roy, laughing heartily, went
out with him.
“Isn’t Uncle Pete funny?” said Kitty. “He is always making us laugh. I
do think he is a darling.”
“You don’t call that sort of talk, funny, do you?” said Augusta, who
was by no means pleased at the Captain’s desire for a private
interview with Miss Roy. “If that is your idea of fun I pity you. Uncle
Peter forgets that we are growing up very fast, and are not babies to
be amused by infant talk.”
“Uncle Pete could not be silly,” replied Nora.
“If you don’t like him, why don’t you hold your tongue?” replied
Kitty.
“And why do you pretend to like him so much?” said Nora again.
“Of course I like him,” cried Augusta, who feared that she might have
gone too far. “Well, let’s go on with our history; we may as well have
good marks. All these sort of things will tell when the great day of
the prize-giving arrives.”
Meanwhile Captain Richmond had conducted Miss Roy to the drawing-room.
They both stood close to the chiffonier. Captain Richmond pushed
forward a chair and asked the governess to seat herself.
“I want to show you something,” he said, “and I should be extremely
glad if you could throw some light upon it. It has troubled me a good
bit.”
“What do you mean?” said Miss Roy.
“I allude to an entry in the orderly-book.”
“An entry in the orderly-book!”
“Yes—made in your absence—made by my sister-in-law. Perhaps you can
explain it.”
As Captain Richmond spoke he opened the drawer of the chiffonier where
the orderly-book was kept, took out the book, and placed it on a small
table before the governess; then opening the book, he pointed to the
page where poor Nancy’s cruel conduct was testified to.
“Look,” he said. “You would not have supposed that _she_ could be
cruel.”
“Nancy cruel!” said Miss Roy. “Excuse me one moment, Captain Richmond;
I will put on my glasses. This puzzles me.”
Miss Roy adjusted her glasses and bent over the book. She was
naturally a very calm woman, and was in no hurry to give herself away.
She turned page after page and examined the marks of the other girls.
Finally, she took the marks for conduct, diligence, intellectual
employments on the 24th of August by themselves, looking separately at
the page devoted to each girl.
“Well?” said Captain Richmond, who was watching her with interest.
“I cannot understand it,” she said. “It cannot possibly be true.”
“So I thought,” said the Captain.
“It cannot be true,” repeated Miss Roy. “A mark for carelessness, for
forgetfulness, even for untidiness, might be possible in the case of
Nancy Esterleigh, but cruelty—— No, Captain Richmond, the child
could not be cruel.”
“And yet,” said the Captain, “the mark is there—most distinctly
written. You observe how empty the page is—blanks in most
departments—and this terrible mark for conduct. We cannot get over
it.”
“It is very unaccountable,” said Miss Roy. “There must be a mistake.”
“I have thought of that,” said the Captain; “but I don’t see how there
can be. My sister-in-law is extremely particular, and not at all
careless.”
“You must remember,” said Miss Roy, “that she entered these marks on
the very day when she was sent for in a hurry to Mrs. Rashleigh.”
“That might account for something, but not for this—this gross act of
injustice. Miss Roy, I have watched little Nancy; this mark caused me
anxiety. I have watched the child at all hours. I have never seen a
trace of cruelty. But there is something the matter. She is not at her
ease. She is unhappy. She is like a child who carries a secret.”
“Augusta again,” said Miss Roy.
“I think not,” answered the Captain. “I have observed them together,
and have noticed that Augusta is extremely kind to Nancy. I don’t
personally care for Augusta. She is not at all to my taste. But one
must not be unjust to her. No, it is not that. Nancy carries a secret.
Why should she carry a secret, Miss Roy? Painful as it is to say, does
it not rather point to the truth of this terrible report?”
“The thing to do,” said Miss Roy, “is to appeal to Mrs. Richmond. I
wonder you did not think of this before, Captain Richmond.”
“I did; but I did not want to worry her while she was away, and with a
great deal of care on her shoulders. And remember, we expected her
home about now. Her sudden visit to South Africa upset all our
calculations, and as a matter of fact put this thing out of my head.
But even if I had thought of asking for an explanation, I should
scarcely like to have done so just at present. She would naturally
say, ‘You ought to accept my plain statements without comment.’”
“Not in this case, and with such an extraordinary accusation against a
most tender-hearted child,” was Miss Roy’s answer. “Well, what is to
be done now? Even if we were to write to Mrs. Richmond, we could not
get an answer for six weeks.”
“We cannot wait for that,” said the Captain; “the prizes are to be
given in three weeks’ time from to-day.”
“And you will let this influence you, Captain Richmond?” said Miss
Roy.
“What am I to do?” he answered, shrugging his shoulders; and as he
spoke he shut the orderly-book. “I am glad I have confided in you,” he
said. “You may throw light on the matter; I sincerely hope you will.
But for this dreadful mark, Nancy would get the Royal Cross. As it
is”——
He paused and shrugged his shoulders again. “There is just one thing
more,” he added. “Some one has broken open this drawer in the
chiffonier. See for yourself.”
The open drawer showed the marks where a knife had been used, making
distinct indentations in the delicate wood.
“The mystery thickens,” said Miss Roy. “Well, I will watch and do what
I can.”
“You will be very careful not to let any one know I have spoken to
you,” said Captain Richmond.
“Certainly, Captain Richmond; I will be most careful.”
Miss Roy went away. She felt very much troubled and perplexed. The
Captain’s remarks with regard to Nancy troubled her almost as much as
the extraordinary and unaccountable entry in the orderly-book.
“What can it all mean? There are some crimes which it is impossible to
associate with certain natures,” was her thought. “Nancy would not
hurt a fly. She is over-sensitive and over-affectionate; if any one
could be over-kind it would be Nancy. And yet—and yet—— Oh, I do
trust light will be thrown on this mystery! I hope Captain Richmond
will not give away the prizes before Mrs. Richmond returns. I am quite
sure she can explain what is wrong. Then, who opened the drawer
without a key? It would be an act of cruel injustice to deprive Nancy
of the prize until we discover who has done that. Poor, dear little
girl; I will try and find her, and see if I can lead her to talk of
this matter. Of course, I am bound by my promise to Captain Richmond
not to ask her any direct questions.”
Miss Roy entered the schoolroom. It was empty. She went into the
shrubbery, and walked round the grounds. She could not find any of the
girls. Finally, she went back to the house, and went into Nancy’s
bedroom.
Nancy’s room was a very small one, and was entered through the larger
room occupied by Nora and Kitty. Nancy was always neat, and her little
room was in absolute order. Her bird’s cage hung in the window. The
canary, which had been in full feather and lively song, sat upon its
perch. Miss Roy was very fond of birds, and she went up now to this
one to speak to him.
“Ah, Sunbeam,” she said, “and how are you?”
As she said this she noticed that the bird was not in his usual
spirits. His feathers were ruffled, and he looked at the governess
with a dull expression in his eye.
“Poor dicky—poor Sunbeam,” said Miss Roy—“what can be wrong with
you?”
The cage was hung high to be out of the way of the cats. Miss Roy
lifted it down off its hook, and put it on a little table which stood
near. The next moment she uttered a shocked exclamation.
No wonder the bird was dull and unable to sing. His water-trough was
empty, and he had scarcely any seed left in his seed-drawer.
“Impossible!” said Miss Roy. “Nancy to forget the bird she loves so
much! And yet I must believe my own sight.”
She felt very angry. Cruelty to dumb animals was the one sin she could
not overlook. Taking the trough, she proceeded to fill it with water;
and she was just replenishing the seeds when the door opened, and
Augusta, singing a gay song, and carrying a bunch of groundsel in her
hand, entered the room.
“Oh, Miss Roy, you here!” she cried. “I was bringing a piece of
groundsel for Sunbeam. Why, what is the matter? Is the bird ill?”
“It looks like it,” said Miss Roy.
She did not want Augusta to share her discovery. But that young lady
was a great deal too astute to be easily hoodwinked.
“Why, what is it?” she said. “What can be the matter?”
Then she went up to the cage, and made precisely the same discovery
Miss Roy had made.
“Oh, I say!” exclaimed Augusta. “How downright wicked!”
“I will put it right,” said Miss Roy, trembling a little. “Leave me
the groundsel. Go—please go.”
A voice below shouted Augusta’s name, and she ran off. Miss Roy
attended to the suffering bird, giving him seed and water and a nice
bunch of groundsel. He began to eat and drink at once, and before she
left the room she had the satisfaction of seeing that he was much
revived.
“I will see to this matter myself,” she said under her breath. “There
must be no dumb creature in this house liable to such neglect. Alas,
how little one knows any one! Mrs. Richmond may have given that bad
mark for just such another act of carelessness. It seems to explain
things. But who would have thought it of Nancy?”
At lunch that day Augusta suddenly looked up and fixed her bright eyes
on Nancy.
“I have a crow to pluck with you,” she said.
“What is it?” asked the little girl.
“Come, Augusta,” said the Captain, “none of this! I am sure Nancy has
not done anything wrong.”
“Oh, hasn’t she? You ask Miss Roy.—Miss Roy, don’t you think the
little favourite wants a word of caution?”
“You ought not to call Nancy by that silly name,” said Miss Roy; but
she looked uneasy and troubled.
Augusta said nothing more, but nodded in a very knowing way to Nancy.
Immediately after dinner she rushed up to the child, slipped her hand
through her arm, and pulled her aside.
“Well, Nancy,” she said, “it will be all up with you if you are not
careful.”
“What do you—what _do_ you mean, Augusta?”
“Listen. I don’t think Miss Roy is going to tell. She really is kind,
and I don’t fancy she will tell; and if she doesn’t, the Captain, who
has now charge of the orderly-book, will know nothing about it.”
“Oh Augusta, you are so mysterious! What are you talking about?”
“I am surprised at you,” said Augusta. “I hate cruelty myself.”
“And you think that I am cruel!” said Nancy. “What next?”
“I don’t trouble myself to think about what I know,” said Augusta. “A
girl who had any love for dumb creatures would not starve her pet
bird.”
“My canary! I starve my canary! What do you mean?”
“Ask Miss Roy. She went into your bedroom and found poor old Sunbeam
anything but sun-shiny—all ruffled up and dull and drooping. The
reason was not far to seek. There was no water in his trough and no
seed in his drawer. Now then, Miss Nancy, what do you say to that?”
“That it is a lie—an awful lie,” said Nancy, her gentle face quite
transformed with rage. “What do you mean? I fed my bird this morning.
I gave him water, and plenty of seed, and a lump of sugar. What are
you talking about?”
“Ask Miss Roy, my dear, if you don’t believe me. I happened to come
into the room with some groundsel. I had been getting some to give the
birds in the aviary downstairs, and I thought of Sunbeam. Miss Roy was
in the room, and before she could stop me I had discovered what was
wrong. Make what use you can of my information. Speak to her about it.
She saw with her own eyes. Who else is responsible for the bird? Why,
what is the matter, Nancy? Where are you going to?”
“To Miss Roy. I cannot stand this. I have an enemy, and I can’t make
it out. Oh, I am a very unhappy girl! Augusta, what have I done to
you? Why do you make my life so miserable?”
“Make your life miserable!” said Augusta, who by no means wished to
bring things to a crisis. “I am sure I am very far from doing that. Do
you think I would really tell the Captain? You may be sure Miss Roy
won’t; and I will go to her this minute, if you like, and _beg_
her not to. Now, am I not kind?”
“Don’t go; I would rather speak to her myself. I would rather brave
things out;” and Nancy suddenly rushed away from Augusta. She went
into the house and looked for Miss Roy, whom she found in the
schoolroom.
“Miss Roy, I want to say something,” cried the little girl, the colour
mantling her cheeks.
“What is it, Nancy?” said Miss Roy just a trifle coldly, for the
incident of the starving bird had troubled the governess a great deal.
“Augusta told me,” continued Nancy; “and it is not true. There is not
a word of it true. Oh, what is to be done? I did feed my canary this
morning. I gave him water and seed, and cleaned out his cage. I have
never neglected my bird yet—never.”
“My dear Nancy, I am sorry even to appear to doubt you, but I saw with
my own eyes that the bird was without seed. Seeing is believing, you
know.”
“And you believe that I could be so cruel?” said Nancy.
“Seeing is believing,” repeated Miss Roy.
“I didn’t do it. Oh, you will drive me wild! I did not think that you
would turn against me.”
“No one attends to the bird except yourself. Who in this house would
be so wicked and malicious as to take away the seed and water? No, my
dear Nancy; you forgot. It was unlike you, and I am disappointed in
you. But I have decided not to tell Uncle Peter; I will give you
another chance. Had I been in charge of the orderly-book I should have
been obliged to enter this circumstance in the book; but as I am not I
do not hold myself responsible. Go away now, dear. Don’t keep me. Try
and be more careful another time.”
Nancy stood perfectly still. Her face, which had been red with anger,
was now white. She turned abruptly and walked out of the room.
“It is all most unaccountable,” thought the governess to herself. “But
to suppose for a single instant that any one could have removed the
seed and water is not to be thought of. Yes, I am sorry for Nancy. She
forgot the bird: such things have happened even with tender-hearted
and considerate children. She forgot the bird, and has not the courage
to own to her fault. Poor, poor child; I fear that remark in the
orderly-book is correct.”
Meanwhile Nancy went up to her room. Never before had such mad passion
seized her. She felt like a wounded creature in a trap. But of one
thing she was resolved.
“My dicky-bird, my darling, shall not run such a risk again,” she
thought. “Oh, of course it must be Augusta! No one else could do such
a fiendish thing. But my darling shall not suffer. I know who will
care for him.”
She put on her hat, took the cage down from the hook, threw a
handkerchief over it, and went out.
About a mile away there lived a woman with a sick child. Nancy and
the two Richmond girls had visited this woman once or twice. And Nancy
had spoken to little Grace of her bird. Grace had been deeply
interested.
“Oh, if only my poor little Grace could have a bird all to herself!”
said her mother. “But there! I cannot afford it. I offered to buy her
a linnet—one can get linnets quite cheap—but she would not have it.
‘No, mother,’ she said, ‘I would not take the liberty from an English
bird. It is a canary I want. I’d like to have one more than anything
else in the world.’”
Nancy had made up her mind now to give her treasured bird to Grace.
She was relieved to see that no one was about. She walked slowly for
fear of spilling the water in the cage. Presently she entered the
woods, and setting the cage down on the ground, she removed the
handkerchief, and threw herself on her face and hands close to the
bird. She pressed her pretty, gentle face up against the bars of the
cage, whistling softly to Sunbeam. He sidled up to her, and presently
printed a soft kiss from his beak on her rosy lips.
“They say that I starve you, darling,” said Nancy. “You know better,
don’t you? But you sha’n’t ever run such an awful risk again, my own
little bird. You sha’n’t be at the mercy of any cruel girl. I would
sooner part from you. You will soon forget me, my little dicky-bird,
but I will never, never forget you. Come, you shall go to a good
home—to a little girl who will be kind to you.”
She walked on through the wood holding the cage, and presently she
reached Mrs. Hammond’s cottage. The day was hot with a languorous sort
of heat. There was little or no wind, and thunder rumbled in the sky.
Grace had been very tired all that morning; her back ached, and life
seemed weary. She had refused her dinner, and had turned away from all
her mother’s attempts at consolation. When Nancy’s tap was heard on
the door, Mrs. Hammond threw down her sewing and went to open it. A
pale little girl with bright eyes, holding a cage in her hand, stood
without.
“Why, if it ain’t one of the dear little ladies from Fairleigh!” cried
the widow. “My Grace is very poorly to-day, but a sight of you will do
her a lot of good, miss.”
“I have brought a bird for her—my own bird. May I go in and see her
at once?” said Nancy.
[Illustration: “I have brought a bird for her—my own bird. May I go
in and see her at once?” said Nancy.]
“A bird!” cried the mother. “Oh, won’t it be just heaven to her? Yes,
she is very poorly, and so dull; but a bird all her own—— Oh, I say,
miss! come this way at once.—Grace, here is somebody to cheer you
up,” continued Mrs. Hammond.—“Come right in, miss; I will stay in the
kitchen while you talk to her.”
So Nancy entered with Sunbeam in his pretty coloured cage.
Grace, who had been lying down, started up in her delight.
“For me! It can’t be,” she exclaimed. “You have brought him to see me,
miss. Oh, ain’t he just pretty?”
“I have brought him to give him to you,” cried Nancy. “He is your very
own from this minute. You will be kind to him, won’t you?”
“Kind to him! Oh miss—oh miss!”
“You will never forget his water nor his seed?”
“As if I could, miss!”
“And you won’t let the cats get to him?”
“We ain’t got a cat, miss. He shall stay with me morning and night.
Oh, Miss Nancy, I’ll get well now; I feel that I will. Oh, the joy of
having him! How can I thank you? But there! I can’t even try to.”
“Don’t try, Grace; your face is thanks enough. No, I won’t stay. He
will want lots of water; and here is a whole canister of seed—every
sort. You must dry his cage after he has his bath. I give him his bath
every morning before I clean and feed him.—Good-bye, my Sunbeam.”
Nancy bent towards the cage. Her curly hair fell across her face, and
even the little sick girl did not notice the tears in her eyes. She
ran out of the cottage before Mrs. Hammond could interrupt her.