THE BEGINNING OF THE SHADOW.
The day of the party dawned on the world as sunshiny as day could
dawn. The fierce heat of the sun was tempered by just the right amount
of breeze. The sultry weather of the past ten days had given place to
a fresher and clearer atmosphere. All the world ought to have been in
the best of spirits on such a glorious day in early autumn.
About eleven o’clock Captain Richmond appeared on the scene, carrying
a square box in his hand. He entered the library, where Miss Roy
happened to be alone.
Miss Roy’s face was preternaturally grave, and when she saw the
Captain she uttered an exclamation of relief.
“I am so glad you have come!” she said. “I want to speak to you
badly.”
“What is it?” asked Captain Richmond.
“Will you shut the door and turn the key? I don’t want any of the
children to overhear us.”
“Where are the children?” asked Captain Richmond.
“Busy all over the place—busy as you might expect such little bees to
be on such an occasion. Oh, but I forgot! Gussie is lying down; she
has a slight headache and pain in her back.”
“Augusta doesn’t seem too strong,” said the Captain. “I have heard of
several headaches lately.”
“She is a very queer girl, and I don’t understand her,” said Miss Roy.
“After all, Miss Roy,” said the Captain, “she must be a very good
girl, for beyond doubt she will be the happy possessor of the Royal
Cross to-night.”
“You don’t say so! I am amazed!” answered the governess.
“To tell the truth, I am amazed myself, and a little disappointed. It
is wrong to say it, but I am. Still, there is no question with regard
to the matter. Augusta is the only one of the little battalion who has
not had a single bad mark for conduct.”
“I am sure poor Nora and Kitty have tried their best,” said Miss Roy,
standing up for her pupils, as was natural.
“Just so. I am sure you are right. Nevertheless, the poor mites have
little gray marks for carelessness, untidiness, forgetfulness,
registered against them on several occasions.”
“Yes,” said Miss Roy, “that is true. I have entered those marks
myself, and regret having had to do so.”
“What else could you do?” said the Captain. “If there was anything in
my little scheme, absolute truth and justice were essential.”
“What about Nancy?” said Miss Roy, fixing her eyes on the Captain’s
face.
“Nancy!” said the Captain. “Don’t you remember?”
“Remember? Oh yes! Could I forget? But I had hoped”——
“What, my dear lady?”
“That some explanation had been arrived at. How is it possible to
credit a child like Nancy with cruelty?”
But then Miss Roy recalled the incident of the starving canary, and
her voice faltered as she spoke.
“There is no explanation,” said Captain Richmond. “I feel nearly wild
about it, I assure you. I have thought over the matter until my head
ached; but the entry was made by my sister-in-law, a woman who does
not make mistakes. It is impossible there could be anything wrong in
the entry. What Nancy did we don’t know, but that mark takes away even
the remotest chance of her winning the Royal Cross.”
“Then you will tell her,” said Miss Roy; “you will at least give her a
chance of explaining, if any explanation is possible?”
“Yes; I shall have to speak of it at the time. It will be a painful
moment, but it is only just to the little girl.”
“I feel certain,” said Miss Roy, “that Nancy will be able to put
matters right.”
But then again she thought of the canary, and once again her speech
seemed to choke her.
“You must not worry about it,” said Captain Richmond. “And now,” he
added in a good-natured tone, “can I do anything for you? Pray command
me.”
“There is something I must speak to you about, Captain
Richmond—something very serious and painful. I cannot tell you how
grieved I am that such bad news should reach us on this auspicious
day. I think it will be our duty to keep what I am about to
communicate from the young people. Let them have one day of pleasure
at any rate. But the fact is, poor Constance Aspray is not expected to
live out the day, and a servant in the house has now developed
smallpox.”
“Indeed!” said the Captain. “How terrible!”
“We cannot put off our guests now,” said Miss Roy; “nor would it be
wise. Any kind of panic at such a time would be sure to make the
mischief worse. There have been a few other cases in the village, and
although they have been removed to hospital at once, yet it would
certainly be best for us to leave here to-morrow morning. I should not
feel I was fulfilling my duty to Mrs. Richmond if I allowed the
children to run any further risk.”
“Very well,” said the Captain, “you must do as you think best. Only
let them all be happy for this day at least.”
He was about to leave the room, when he turned suddenly:
“Could you have this box conveyed to Nancy’s bedroom?” he said. “There
is a little surprise within for her; and I only wish I were able to
give her the Royal Cross to-night.”
Miss Roy promised to attend to Captain Richmond’s request, and the
young man left the house.
Outside, Kitty, Nora, and Nancy were rushing wildly about, arranging
benches, seeing to the best position for garden chairs, and helping
here, there, and everywhere. They rushed to the Captain with glad
welcomes, and he was soon as busy as the rest making preparations for
the evening.
Lunch was extra early that day, in order to have everything in
readiness for the advent of the poor people early in the afternoon.
Nancy and the other two girls went up to their rooms, and soon a
shriek from Nancy brought Kitty and Nora running to her bedroom.
“Oh, is it a fairy—is it—is it? I don’t know whether I am on my head
or on my heels,” cried the little girl; “but such a darling, such a
beauty! Oh, isn’t it just sweet? Who gave it to me? Kitty, it can’t be
true; it must be meant for some other little girl.”
“No, it isn’t. See what is written on that piece of paper,” said
Kitty, whose face was red and her eyes dancing with joy. “See for
yourself, Nancy; see for yourself.”
Nancy read the following words on a little white card:
“From a genie to a good fairy, with compliments.”
“Oh, it is quite mysterious!” said Nancy. “But are you certain that I
am the good fairy?”
“Certain—positive,” said Kitty. “Why, I could not wear that dress; it
is a great deal too small. What a figure of fun I should look with my
long legs! But it will suit you, Nancy, to perfection. I knew
that”——
“Hush, Kitty!” said Nora.
“You are hiding something from me,” said Nancy.
“Nothing—nothing, truly: but do let us examine it. Is it not
wonderful to have a genie for a friend?”
“What is a genie?” said Nancy.
“A sort of grown-up fairy—better than a fairy, because he is
stronger, and he is quite grownup, you know. And if a little girl has
a genie for a friend, why, anything may happen to her. She might ask
for anything and she would probably get it. And, oh, what sweet little
shoes! And the stockings! Well done, Unc”——
“Kitty, you are quite incorrigible,” said Nora. “But there, Nan! you
are in luck; the dress is yours, and you are to wear it to-night. Now
do come, Kit, for if we don’t hurry we shall be late for lunch.”
Nancy folded the pretty frock and put it into its box. Kitty’s words
had enlightened her: Uncle Pete was the genie; and, of course, she was
the good little fairy.
“But am I a good fairy?” thought the child. “Oh, if he only knew! And
if he could only guess how my heart aches—often, often. I know I have
no chance of the Royal Cross to-night. I wonder who will get it.
Gussie hopes that she will. Perhaps she will, for she is so clever; no
one guesses when Gussie does wrong things—no one but me. Oh, how
unhappy she has made my life! Well, I must go to her now. I must find
out if her head is any better.”
Nan flew along the corridors, and soon reached Augusta’s room, opened
the door without knocking, and went in.
Augusta was lying in an uneasy doze, and her face was considerably
flushed.
“It is lunch-time,” said Nan; “aren’t you coming down?”
“No,” said Augusta; “I could not eat anything.”
“Are you ill?” asked Nancy in a low, terror-stricken whisper.
“No, I am not a bit ill,” said Augusta; “but I have got one of my
stupid headaches. Don’t look so scared, child. Come here, close to me,
Nan.”
“Yes,” said Nancy; and she went to Augusta’s side and bent over her.
“You are hot, Gussie; and, oh dear, how your face burns!”
“I always get hot like that when I have these stupid headaches; but it
is better. I don’t feel it when I am lying down. Nancy, has there been
any news from the Asprays?”
“I have not heard of any,” said Nancy.
“Oh, what a relief”——
“We would have heard if—if the worst——” said Nancy.
“Oh, of course; but don’t let as think any more about them,” said
Augusta. “And I am not a bit ill, really. Tell them all I am coming
down this afternoon, but I shall stay quiet until then.”
“But won’t you have anything to eat, Gussie?”
“No, no; nothing. I could not touch a morsel. Go away now; there’s a
good child.”
“Do you know, Gussie, Uncle Pete—a good genie, I mean—has brought
me such a lovely frock; very like yours, only, I think, nicer. It was
in a box, and the box was on my bed. I have just unfastened it and
looked at the frock. But isn’t it just too sweet of him?”
“Yes,” said Augusta. “Then there will be two of us to look pretty
to-night.”
“I want to look very, very pretty,” said Nancy, “just to show Uncle
Pete how grateful I am to him.”
“Well, don’t chat any more now; your silly talk makes my head worse
than ever. Run away now. Only listen; if there is any worse news, be
sure you let me know.”
“Yes,” said Nancy; and she left the room.
Augusta tossed from side to side of her bed. Troubled thoughts were
visiting her. A fear, grave and mighty, was lying dormant in her
breast; very little would make it start into full growth. She sat up
presently and pushed the thick hair from her brows.
One of the housemaids came in, and started when she saw Augusta; then
coming forward, she said in a tone of commiseration:
“Oh, Miss Gussie! I didn’t know you were here. And you do look bad,
miss. Is there much the matter?”
“Only a stupid headache,” said Augusta. “It will be all right
presently. I shall come down to have my fun when those tiresome poor
people have gone; I am not going before.”
“We are all going to have a lark,” said the girl, who saw no reason
for being extra respectful to Augusta, who was no favourite with the
servants. “There are a lot of them coming; but Gaffer Jones can’t, nor
can old Tilbury.”
“Who are they? And why can’t they come?” asked Augusta.
“Because of the sickness, miss.”
“Sickness!” said Augusta, at once on the alert. “Is any one ill?”
“Three cases of smallpox in the village, miss. But the sick people is
took to the hospital—two in Gaffer Jones’s house, and one in
Tilbury’s—three in all. It do seem sad about that poor, handsome young
lady.”
“Miss Aspray, do you mean?” said Augusta, whose face had now turned
deadly white.
“Yes, miss—of course.”
“She is not dead?”
“No, no, miss. How bad you look! But she is likely to be afore long.
There! I won’t talk to you no more, miss, if I can’t do nothing for
you; but if you would like a cup of tea”——
“No; leave me, please, Jane. All I want is to be quiet.”
Jane withdrew, and Augusta flung herself once more on her bed and
covered her head.
“Of course it is nothing,” she said to herself; “only this headache. I
am safe now, and I won’t even think there is anything to fear.
But—but, oh, the pain in my back!”
Notwithstanding the shadow of illness which rested so darkly over one
house, and which was already making its cruel and awful presence felt
in the village, the party at Fairleigh was a merry one. Everything
was done to make the guests happy. There was no selfish element at
work, and the guests were delighted—there was no hitch anywhere. Poor
Augusta upstairs, in pain and terror, was for the time forgotten.
But the gayest time will come to an end, and when the party had run
races innumerable, swarmed up greasy poles, leapt barriers, and jumped
about in sacks, and gone through the different feats which are the
pride and honour of an Englishman’s holiday, a good meal followed.
Then the children of the neighbourhood appeared on the scene, and soon
after six o’clock the first batch of guests took their leave.
It was now the turn of the young people of the house to rush off to
their rooms to get ready for the dance, which was to be, in one sense,
the greatest event of the day.
Nan, with her heart smiting her for having forgotten Augusta so long,
went first to that young lady’s room.
She knocked. Gussie said, “Come in;” and she entered.
“How do I look?” said Augusta.
Nancy started with genuine pleasure when she saw her. She was up, and
was arrayed in her beautiful frock. The maid Jane had been summoned,
and had tied all the strings and fastened the different hooks.
“You do look well now, Gussie,” said Nancy. “I am so happy!”
Augusta, always a striking-looking girl, looked distinctly handsome
to-night. The brightness of incipient fever shone in her eyes, making
them both large and dark; a rich colour mantled her cheeks, and the
very dread which filled her softened her beauty and gave character to
her face. Her lovely dress fitted her to perfection, and showed off
her young graces, making her look quite remarkable.
“How nicely you have your hair done! Did Jane do it?” asked Nancy.
“No; I did it myself.”
“And is your headache quite well now?”
“It aches now and then, but it is nothing to signify. When I have
danced a little I shall be quite all right.”
“Oh Gussie! you are shivering, and your face has turned white.”
“I must have taken a chill,” said Augusta. “I have been like this, off
and on, all day.”
“Have you had anything to eat, Gussie?”
“No; I could not eat. But I should like something to drink. My eyes
burn, and I am awfully thirsty.”
“Oh, there are such piles of ices downstairs! I will go and fetch you
a strawberry ice.”
“You really are a good little thing. But come here. Have you heard
anything fresh about the Asprays?”
“About the Asprays?” said Nancy. “No—nothing at all.”
“But I have. Jane has told me that Constance is worse—so bad that
they don’t think she can recover. And, oh! if Connie dies, I can’t—I
_can’t_ bear it.”
“Oh, but she won’t die! And please—please, Gussie, do bear up. I am
sure God will spare Constance.”
“I don’t know. I don’t seem able to believe anything—anything good, I
mean, Nancy. But did I tell you that there are cases in the village?”
“Are there?” said Nancy. “But it can’t be true,” she added, “for if
there were Miss Roy would have told us.”
“It is true; and I watched the people as they came on the lawn. I
watched them on purpose. Gaffer Jones was not there, nor was Mrs.
Tilbury, nor any of her family. Some of the Tilburys are down with it,
Nancy, and some of the Joneses. And, oh dear! I wish I could get it
all out of my head—it is so—so dreadful.”
“I must rush away to dress,” said Nancy. “It is very sad, but we are
bound to make ourselves happy to-night, and forget such things.”
She ran off, having quite forgotten about the ice which she had
promised to bring to Augusta.
Augusta stood for a long while by the window; then she went
downstairs.
The final touches had been given to the long supper-table. Nancy was
right; there were pails full of ice under the sideboard.
“I am so thirsty, Walter; will you give me some ice?” said Augusta.
The man helped her to a strawberry ice, which she ate greedily. “Now I
will have something to drink,” she said; “iced champagne—anything.”
There was no iced champagne, but iced claret-cup was forthcoming, and
Augusta drank it, declaring to herself that she felt vastly better.
She then went out on the lawn.
There she was met by Uncle Peter in his evening-dress, and soon
afterwards the three girls joined them.
Nancy looked just as sweet as the genie thought she would when he
selected her dress. Her face was pale beside the flaming colour which
painted Augusta’s cheeks, but—there was no doubt about it—the little
girl possessed the rarer sort of beauty. Nancy’s was of the spiritual
order, filling her eyes with sadness and sympathy, and making the
expression of her little face unworldly and high in tone.