DOWN BY THE WISTARIA.
Augusta came down to lunch in high spirits. All was going swimmingly.
She would have no difficulty now in carrying out her daring scheme.
The point of danger was practically passed. Nancy sat during lunch at
the same side as Augusta, so that astute young lady could not manage
to see her face; but after lunch the beginning of the little programme
which she had sketched out for Nancy’s benefit ought to have been
begun. The endearing words, the suggestion of the night to be spent
together, ought to be spoken. But immediately after the meal was over
Nancy jumped up and ran out of the room.
“Tiresome little thing, is she forgetting?” said Augusta to herself.
“Oh! perhaps it will do equally well at tea-time.”
But at tea-time Nancy was not there, and when Augusta inquired in
solicitous tones where the little favourite could have hidden herself,
Nora said:
“Oh! Nancy is not coming back to tea; she has gone for a walk in the
woods with Miss Roy. She has gone, I think, to see little Grace
Hammond, and to find out how her bird is.”
“Did you want her for anything?” asked Kitty.
“No,” replied Augusta crossly; “I just asked where she could be. I am
very fond of little Nancy.”
All Augusta’s plans had now to be rearranged. Having got over her
first wild anger against Nancy, she determined to ignore her, to do
exactly what she pleased in spite of her, and trust to the little
girl’s promise not to tell unless she were obliged to.
“Of course, she will never be obliged to,” said Augusta to herself; “I
shall take good care of that.”
She then sat down and thought over matters. Yes, there was nothing
whatever for it but to get out of her window, to climb down by the
wistaria, and at night to return the same way. She could not possibly
risk the chance of a window being open downstairs.
Fairleigh was an old-fashioned house, with shutters to all the lower
windows, which were fastened by iron bars. It was situated quite by
itself, and in a somewhat lonely part of the country, and these
precautions were considered advisable. Night after night the servants
closed the shutters and barred them, so there was no possible ingress
by any of the lower windows.
Augusta considered herself in luck to have a room practically in a
wing all by herself. She went to the window and looked down. Neither
Nora nor Kitty would have thought anything of descending to the ground
and climbing up again by the thick arm of the wistaria which ran all
round this part of the house. But Augusta was not athletic, and had
she been less set upon her evening’s amusement, she might have
hesitated at the peril of letting herself down and of returning again
by such romantic means.
“Nothing venture, nothing have,” however, and to go to the party she
was resolved. She went downstairs, saw Kitty, and said in a voice
which she rendered quite hollow:
“I am very ill indeed, Kitty; I have one of my desperate headaches. Do
say good-night to the others, and forget all about me until you see me
to-morrow morning.”
“Are you going to bed?” said Kitty. “It is not seven o’clock yet.”
“I must lie down; I cannot hold my head up another moment.”
“But can’t I do something for you? May I come and bathe your head,
Gussie? I should like to, really.”
“No, thanks,” replied Augusta. “I would far rather be alone; quiet is
all that I require. Don’t send me up anything to eat. Don’t have me
disturbed on any account whatever. Good-night, Kitty, and say
good-night to the others for me; what I want is quiet.”
“You do look bad,” said Kitty in an affectionate tone. She kissed her
cousin, and then ran into the grounds. Nora and Uncle Peter were
enjoying themselves under the shade of a big elm tree.
“I am so sorry about poor Augusta!” said Kitty.
“What about her?” said Uncle Peter.
“She has gone to bed with a bad headache; she says she is not to be
disturbed. Oh! there is Nancy.—Come right over here, Nancy, and tell
us about the bird.”
“The bird is quite well,” answered Nancy.
Her pretty face was pale, and there were big dark shadows under her
eyes. Uncle Peter stretched out his hand and made room for her to seat
herself near him.
“Has the wrong been put right?” he whispered.
She coloured and looked up at him.
“No,” she answered slowly, speaking almost into his ear. “But the
wrong is not _more_ wrong than it was this morning.”
“What a conundrum!” he said, with a laugh; but his laugh was uneasy,
and he looked seriously at the child.
“There is something more the matter with her than I had any idea of,”
was his thought.
“Augusta is ill,” here called out Kitty; “she has gone to her room,
and is not to be disturbed.”
Captain Richmond had his arm round Nancy, and he felt a shiver run
through her frame as Kitty uttered these words.
“What _can_ it all mean?” he said to himself.
Meanwhile Augusta upstairs, even the mere thought of a headache
forgotten, was getting ready for her party. She put on her prettiest
white dress; the idea of borrowing a dress from the Asprays was not to
be thought of for a moment. She tied a pale gold sash round her waist,
and arranged her hair simply. Finally, she encircled her round and
pretty throat with a single row of valuable pearls, and slipped a gold
bangle on her arm. Her dress was pretty and suitable, and she looked
well in it. She gazed at her own reflection in the glass with
complacency. As a rule she had very little colour, but it was mounting
now with a rich damask hue into each of her cheeks. Having attired
herself all but her dancing-shoes, her gloves, and her fan, she
slipped on her waterproof. This completely covered the white dress.
She buttoned it right down, put a cap on her head, and looked out. The
ground was about five-and-twenty feet away, but it seemed to Augusta
then to be quite at a giddy distance. For a careful climber there was
no difficulty in the descent. It was but to place a foot on one branch
after the other of the wistaria, which spread forth its branches to
within three feet of the ground, and the deed was done.
In order to make things more safe Augusta had tied a strong cord to
her window-sash; and then, the time being come and the home party all
in the house enjoying their supper, she locked her door, put out the
light, and began her descent. With the aid of the rope she was able to
manage it, and trembling very much, she finally reached the ground.
Were the moon to come out brightly, and were any one to walk round to
that part of the house, that person might observe the rope hanging
from the window, and the window itself a little open. But Augusta must
take her chance of that. The sky was clouded over, too; it would
probably rain before long. So much the better for her.
She ran quickly across the grounds and entered the woods. How dark and
solemn they were at this hour! Had she been less excited she might
even have felt a little bit afraid. But her excitement kept all
nervousness at bay.
She ran on and on. Once she stumbled upon the stump of a tree which
was sticking out of the ground. She fell and slightly grazed her arm,
jumped up again, and went on.
At last she had reached the farther entrance to the wood. Here Flora,
with the dogcart, ought to have met her; but there was no Flora and no
vehicle of any sort in sight. What was to be done? Was it possible
that Flora could have forgotten? Oh no, that would not be like her
friend.
Augusta stood still, panting slightly, and feeling, for the first
time, subdued and a little alarmed. Should she go back and give up all
her glorious fun for which she had risked so much, or should she go
forward?
The Asprays’ house was two miles away. She made up her mind to walk
there.
“Oh, how unkind of Flora—how horrid of her!” thought Augusta. “What
can—what can be the meaning of this? Well, I will get there somehow,
and shame her to her face.”
Accordingly, she started off to walk as fast as she could over the
dusty roads. It was nearly ten o’clock when she reached the Asprays’.
She was surprised to see no signs of festivity. A few lights were
burning in the drawing-room, and a few also in the dining-room. But
the place wore no air of expectancy or bustle or gaiety.
“What can it mean? Have I come on the wrong night?” thought Augusta.
She ran up the steps and sounded the front-door bell. In a moment the
butler threw open the door.
“Is Miss Flora in?” asked Augusta, in some wonder.
“Yes, miss; but——
“I want to see her. I must see her at once. Show me somewhere,” said
Augusta in peremptory tones.
“My mistress said, miss, no one was to come into the house, but”——
“Nonsense!” said Augusta. “I will see Miss Flora, and immediately.”
The man took Augusta into a small room on the ground floor, switched
on the light, and left her. In a minute or two Flora rushed in.
“Gussie,” she said, “how madly dangerous! What have you done it for?”
“What have you neglected me for?” said Augusta, opening her mackintosh
and revealing her pretty evening-dress. “What is the matter? This is
the night of your party, and you promised to meet me outside our wood.
You never came, and I have walked all the way; and, oh, I am so tired,
and so dreadfully frightened! What is it, Flo? What is wrong?”
“Then you never got my letter?” said Flora.
“Oh no; but please explain this mystery. I am so tired. Is not there a
party to-night? Oh, I have gone through such a lot to come! And now
what can this mean?”
“I am ever so sorry,” said Flora. “Mother would be quite mad if she
knew you had come into the house, Gussie. It is too late for the rest
of us, unfortunately; but for you”——
“Oh, what is it?”
“It is Constance. She is awfully ill—most fearfully, dangerously ill.
We have all been with her until this morning, and the doctor says the
whole house is infected. It is smallpox. Oh, isn’t it frightful?”
“Smallpox!” said Augusta.
She would not have feared scarlet-fever or diphtheria. But
smallpox—that ghastly disease which did not always kill, but which
took the lovely and the graceful and the gracious and defiled them;
which made the fair face hideous, destroyed the right proportions, and
stamped them for life!
Augusta, like every other girl in all the world, was afraid of
smallpox.
“How was it I never got your letter?” she said.
“It was only known this morning,” continued Flo. “Even last night we
did not think much about it. She was fearfully ill, of course, and I
slept in her room. But she is subject to bad feverish attacks, and we
hoped she would get well, and that we need not put off the party. The
doctor came early this morning; and—she is covered with it. Oh, it is
frightful! I have been vaccinated, and so has every one else in the
house. But the doctor says we have all run the gravest risk. There is
no use in our going away, however, for no one would take us in.”
“And is she—is she in danger?” Augusta cried, feeling a slight pang
of remorse as she remembered Constance’s delicate and lovely features.
“Oh, I don’t know. They say it is a very bad case; she is quite
delirious. Oh, it is awful! I saw her this morning, and I would not
have known her. I am awfully upset, and I feel sick with terror.
Gussie, you ought not to have come in.”
“Perhaps I had better go away,” said Augusta. “I am very sorry, of
course. It was a pity you didn’t let me have the letter.”
“Mother gave it to the groom to take to you, but I suppose in the
scare he forgot it. I will speak to him in the morning. Would you like
him to drive you back now, Gussie? But the dogcart is not quite safe,
for poor Constance drove in it the day before yesterday. She fainted
before we brought her home; that was the beginning of her illness.”
“I had better walk,” said Augusta. “Good-night.”
“Good-night. I won’t tell mother that you came, as she would be in
such an awful fright. But I hope you have not run any danger. Perhaps
you had better tell your doctor and be vaccinated at once.
Good-night—good-night.”
Augusta went away. She did not even turn to kiss Flora. She nodded to
her vaguely, as though she were not thinking about her, and walked
down the avenue. When she had gone down a little way she turned and
looked up at the windows of the room where the sick girl lay
struggling with death. She gave a shudder, and hurried her footsteps.
What an end to her mad adventure!
She was very tired, and all the excitement which had kept her up
during the past day was now merged into a great terror. What should
she do? Had she contracted infection in that terrible house? Ought she
to be vaccinated?
All her thoughts were for herself. She was more angry with Constance
than sorry for her. How severely that groom ought to be blamed for not
delivering the note!
It was after eleven o’clock when she got back to Fairleigh. Had things
turned out as she expected she would not have got back nearly so soon.
The house was in darkness except for a light in the library window.
The window was shut, and so were the shutters, but the light came out
on the gravel through one or two of the chinks.
Augusta knew that Captain Richmond was there. He generally stayed in
the library for an hour or so after the others had gone to bed. Just
for a moment a wild longing came over her to tell him what had
happened—to seek his advice. If she were infected, had she any right
to infect the others?
She must not attempt to go back to her room while Captain Richmond was
in the library, for the library was almost immediately under her room.
“What a nuisance his sitting up so late!” she thought.
She was too tired to walk another step. She sank down on a garden
seat, wrapped her mackintosh round her, and tried to think; but her
head was giddy, and her brain in a whirl. Her one and only desire was
to get back safely to her room—to fling herself on her bed and lose
consciousness in sleep.
Even the prize, the great and glorious prize, was as nothing to her
now. Even school in Paris seemed remote and uninteresting. Suppose she
sickened for smallpox. Suppose her face, so smooth and fair and
attractive-looking, was altered and made ugly. Suppose she—died.
“Oh, why doesn’t that horrid man go to bed?” thought the girl. She
jumped up and paced about on the grass. She had been too hot; she was
now too cold.
After a time, to her horror, she heard the shutters being unbarred.
The window opened, and Captain Richmond put out his head.
“Is anybody there?” he said. “I thought I heard some one speak. Is
anybody there?”
There was no answer.
Augusta, in terror, was hiding behind a bush of laurustinus.
[Illustration: Augusta in terror was hiding behind a bush of
laurustinus.]
“I must have fancied it,” thought the Captain,
He waited for another minute, then shut the window, refastened the
shutters, put out the light, and went up to his own room.
Augusta breathed a sigh of relief. Creeping carefully forward, she
reached the wistaria, and clutching the cord, began cautiously to
ascend. But if she had been nervous descending from her window, that
was nothing at all to her present feelings. She was thoroughly
unstrung, and very tired. When she had nearly reached the top she gave
a sudden lunge forward, missed the rope, and only saved herself by
clutching hold of the bare arm of a part of the vine.
In doing so she gave her wrist intolerable pain, and very nearly
fainted. But the danger in which she found herself steadied her nerves
sufficiently to enable her to make another great effort, and a moment
later she was safe inside her room.
“So much for stolen pleasures,” thought the miserable girl. “Here I am
back again, battered, torn—oh, how my wrist aches!—and having run
into the gravest danger of my whole life. But there! I must only hope
for the best. Now to untie the cord, put it carefully out of sight,
shut the window, take off my horrid, useless finery, and get into
bed.”