Christina Page 12

  CHAPTER XII.

  "YOU ARE JUST 'ZACKLY LIKE THE PRINCE."

  "The gentleman said he would be back in half an hour; he is staying anight at the inn, and he just wanted to see you and Miss Baba." Mrs.Nairne delivered this long message to Christina, when she and her smallcharge came in from their afternoon walk a few days later, and at herwords, Christina's heart gave a sudden leap.

  Was it possible that the grey-eyed man of the rugged face, the man whohad called himself Lady Cicely's cousin, could be driving that wayagain? And was he coming to see the child? She was secretly pleasedto observe that the landlady had provided a tea of superlativeexcellence, and that the worthy Mrs. Nairne thought, as _she_ alsothought, that Lady Cicely's cousin might perhaps partake of that mealwith Baba and her nurse.

  There was a happy smile on her lips, and her eyes shone brightly, asshe moved to and fro about their little sitting-room, putting it tidy,and arranging in two of Mrs. Nairne's fearsome vases (cherishedpossessions of that good lady, be it known) a tangle of brown leavesand crimson berries, that she and Baba had brought in from the hedges.The child's clear voice drifted in to her from the kitchen, where thesmall girl was proudly conscious of extreme usefulness, whilst shepattered to and fro behind Mrs. Nairne, and helped to arrange thetea-tray.

  "We've got the best tea-set to-day," she announced to Christina intriumph, when she and the landlady entered the sitting-room together,"and I think the cakes is _beautiful_," she added, with a little sighof bliss, as her eyes rested on the table, at which Christina had alsoglanced approvingly.

  "I thought the gentleman might like a cup of tea," Mrs. Nairne saidapologetically, "and I can't bear for there not to be enough to eat."

  "I am sure there will be plenty for us all," Christina answeredgravely, though her eyes twinkled; "and it is good of you to have takenso much trouble. I can assure you, Baba and I will appreciate all thegood things you have given us, and we are as hungry as hunters."

  The sight that greeted Rupert Mernside's eyes, when, a few minuteslater, he came into the firelit room, made a picture that lingered inhis mind for the rest of his life. There were two candles on the roundtable, at which the child and girl sat, but the room was really lightedby the ruddy glow of the fire, whose flames leapt about the great logof wood on the top of the coals, and shed a delicious radiance all overthe low, old-fashioned apartment. Some dead and departed mistress ofMrs. Nairne, had given her the oak furniture, of which the landladyherself spoke deprecatingly, as "queer old stuff," and the firelightwas reflected a hundred times in the highly-polished black of the oak,and the bright brass of handles and knobs. The chintz that covered thefurniture, had also come from a defunct mistress, whose taste had ledher to love just those soft, dim colours, and the old-world patternsthat best suited the oak of the furniture--and the whole result wassupremely pleasing to an aesthetic taste. Flowers sent from BramwellCastle, made a delicious fragrance in the air, and to the man, comingin out of the cold of a damp and foggy December afternoon, there was apeace in the atmosphere, that gave him a pleasing sense of home andrestfulness.

  The firelight shone full on Baba's delicately-tinted face, and goldencurls; shone, too, on the dusky softness of her companion's hair,bringing out in it unexpected gleams of brightness, illuminating thegirl's clear white colouring, and her sweet eyes, showing to the manwho entered, the tenderness of the look that was bent on the littlechild beside her.

  "Cousin Rupert!" Baba shrieked joyfully, scrambling from her seat, andflinging herself upon him, whilst Christina pushed back her chair moredeliberately, and rose to greet their visitor. "We've cakes with sugaron them to-day, 'cos Mrs. Nairne thought you'd come to tea."

  "Oh! she thought I should come to tea, did she?" Rupert answered,smiling, as he held out his hand to Christina, looking at her overBaba's curly head. The child was already in his arms, her soft facepressed against his, and his chin resting on her rippling curls, whilsthe shook hands with her nurse, and said in his deep pleasant voice--

  "I am glad I have just caught you both at tea, Miss Moore. Now youwill let me have some tea, and then I shall hear how you both are, andbe able to carry news of you to my cousin, at first hand."

  Christina was far too guileless and simple of soul to read intoRupert's descent upon them, what was the actual truth--namely, that hefelt impelled, as Baba's guardian, to keep a watchful eye upon the newimportation Cicely had so impulsively introduced into her household;felt it indeed to be nothing more than his bare duty, to see thatBaba's new nurse was all that Cicely enthusiastically believed her tobe.

  "Dear little Cicely's swans have before now turned out to be geese,"Rupert had said to Wilfred Staynes, Cicely's brother, when he and thatsmart young soldier were returning from their motor trip across Sussex."She insisted on engaging this lady nurse for the child, andpractically took her without references. The references she gave us,were, to all intents and purposes, so much waste paper. The writers ofthem were all dead, or in the colonies."

  "Cicely was always like that," Cicely's brother made reply. "She hadthe rattiest collection of sick and sorry animals in her youth, and ofsick and sorry friends as she grew older. She has a way of steppingdown into the highways and hedges, and compelling their inhabitants toenjoy her hospitality. It makes one feel one could always turn toCicely if one went wrong, you know," he added thoughtfully; "she'salways 'for the under dog,' as somebody once put it."

  "Cicely is the dearest soul in the world," Rupert said quickly. "Weall love her for her loving heart--but at the same time, I can't riskletting Baba fall into the hands of a stray adventuress, becauseCicely's heart has been touched."

  "If it's a question of adventuresses, I'll come and see the kid too,"Wilfred answered laughingly. "I like the type; it amuses me. Bronzehair, green eyes, seductive manner. Oh! Rupert, my friend, if youthink Baba is in the care of an adventuress, take, oh take me to callon her too!"

  "What an ass you are, Wilfred," Rupert answered, with a lazy laugh."Is it likely that even our dear and impulsive Cicely, would hand Babaover to the care of your adventuress type of woman? No; the only timeI saw her, the girl seemed a most harmless, quiet little individual."

  "You've seen her?"

  "Yes; I saw her in the nursery at Eaton Square, making friends withBaba, but she made no impression upon me; she was just quite anordinary-looking girl."

  "Oh! la, la! then you may go alone to call on her at Graystone, and seethat she is performing the whole duty of the nurse. Theordinary-looking girl makes no appeal to me."

  His own, and Wilfred's idle words, flashed back into Rupert's mind now,as, across Baba's tangle of golden curls, his eyes looked down into theeyes uplifted to his--eyes to which the dancing firelight gave an oddlyelusive effect. What colour were they? he wondered--grey, hazel, orgreen--deep soft green with great black pupils, and sweeping darklashes, that curled upwards in a deliciously fascinating way. Therewas something child-like and appealing about those sweet eyes,something of the eternal child indeed, about her whole face, from theunclouded brow on which the dusky hair fell in soft tendrils and curls,to the half-parted lips, on which the smile over Baba's latest sally ofwit, still lingered. There was nothing of the adventuress type aboutthis girl, that was very certain, was his first thought; his second,that the uplifted face was in some way familiar to him, that quitelately he had seen it uplifted in precisely this way; and thirdly, heremembered how and when they had met.

  "Why," he exclaimed, "how oblivious you must have thought me the otherday! Surely you _are_ the young lady to whom my cousin and I gave alift in the car?"

  A vivid blush flooded Christina's face with colour, her eyes waveredunder his glance.

  "Yes, it was I who stopped your car, and I thought afterwards howdreadfully audacious and impatient I must have seemed. But I wasanxious to get quickly to the doctor, that----"

  "Not for this young person, was it?" Rupert interrupted, looking downat the child in his arms "she doesn't wear an invalid appearance
."

  "Oh! no, no, not for her." Christina spoke hurriedly, remembering thesecrecy that had been enjoined upon her by the lady of the lonelyhouse, and anxious to lead the conversation away as soon as possiblefrom her visit to the doctor. But Rupert, having deposited Baba in herchair, seated himself beside her, and helped himself to a slice of Mrs.Nairne's hot buttered toast, continuing to talk placidly of the verysubject the girl most desired to avoid.

  "I am afraid somebody was really ill?" he said, and Christina noticedagain what a musical voice his was. "You seemed to be desperatelyanxious to get the doctor as soon as possible."

  "Yes," Christina, answered, trying to speak in matter-of-fact tones;"someone had asked me to fetch the doctor for them, and I didn't wantto lose any time."

  "I hope you found the doctor a satisfactory sort of person? Sometimesthe medical men in these out-of-the-way places, are very impossible."

  "I found a very unusual man," Christina said thoughtfully; "he is a Dr.Fergusson, doing _locum tenens_ work here. He has a remarkablepersonality; he made one feel he was meant to be a leader of men."

  "I hope he will do the patient good."

  "I hope he will," Christina said hurriedly; "he--was in a greatdifficulty that night, and--I hope I did not do wrong in giving himsome help he asked for?" she added, looking deprecatingly into the greyeyes fixed on her face, feeling that it was her obvious duty to tellthis man, who was Lady Cicely's representative, of the night duringwhich she had left Baba.

  "I don't think you can have done anything very wrong," Rupert answeredwith a smile, and speaking almost caressingly, as he might have spokento a child. His smile, and the tone of his words, set the girl'spulses beating, although she vaguely realised he was treating her withthe same kindliness, he might have bestowed upon Baba.

  "Dr. Fergusson was in a great difficulty," she went on, trying again tospeak in matter-of-fact tones. "The lady of the house to which hewent, was--was very lonely, and he asked me to take care of her for thenight. In fact"--Christina smiled at the recollection--"he was verymasterful--he really made me go. But I should not have gone, if I hadnot known that Baba was absolutely safe with Mrs. Nairne. And"--shepaused--"I think I was able to help somebody in great trouble."Rupert's eyes still rested kindly on her face.

  "I don't know that I should recommend you to make a practice of leavingBaba, and sitting up with people at night," he said, his smile takingaway any possible sting from his words; "but I am sure in thisinstance, you only did what seemed most right. You and Baba are happyhere?" he went on, anxious to spare her any unnecessary embarrassment.

  "Baba likes this nice place," the child struck in, "and Christina tellabout the prince. Baba thinks the prince is just 'zackly like you,"she ended, with a wise nod of her curly head. Rupert found himselfspeculating why, at the child's speech, Baba's nurse flushed with suchextreme vividness, and why she evinced so sudden a desire to change thesubject.

  "Oh! Baba--we don't want to talk about fairy stories now," sheinterposed. "Tell--tell all about the pony-cart, and our nice drives.Do you know," she added, looking at him with a shy glance, which seemedto him infinitely attractive, "I have never heard your name, so I don'tknow what to call you."

  "Call him the prince," Baba's clear little voice remarked; "he's myCousin Rupert, but he's 'zackly like the prince--and you're just'zackly like the princess," she added, to Christina's no smalldiscomfiture, pointing a dimpled forefinger in the girl's direction,"and some day the prince will marry the princess, and so they'll livehappy ever after." Again a flood of colour rushed over Christina'sface, and though Rupert saw it in the swift glance he cast at her, hewas merciful enough to turn his eyes upon the child, and say gaily--

  "You must find a much better prince than I am for your princess, littlemaid. Cousin Rupert is a battered old gentleman, with no prince-likequalities. Princes are always young and handsome, with blue eyes andgolden hair, and silver armour, and lots of other jolly things likethat, aren't they, Miss Moore?"

  "Yes, certainly," she answered, rallying to his mood, and laughingbrightly; "they always dress in silver armour, and the princesses neverwear anything but white gowns."

  "Sometimes--green gowns do quite as well for princesses," he answered,glancing at the girl's well-made green gown, with eyes of commendation."Green belongs to fairyland," he added, when again the colour flushedinto her cheeks. "I believe that you and Baba have only quite latelycome from that enchanted country--both the two of you, as my old nurseused to say."

  "We like fairyland--Baba and I," the girl said gently, "and we bothhope, some day, to see the fairies inside the flowers, or dancing roundone of their lovely rings. We have found ever so many fairy rings inthe fields round here." She spoke with something of a child'seagerness, all her momentary embarrassment gone, and Rupert looked ather, with an increasing sense of approval. Cicely had not actedaltogether unwisely, in deciding to give her small daughter thisunknown, unvouched-for girl as a nurse. She was obviously a lady, anda cultured lady, and she possessed that nameless quality which neverfailed to appeal to Rupert's fastidious taste--the restful charm of thetrue gentlewoman. He liked this Miss Moore, he told himself, hedistinctly liked her, and he inwardly commended Cicely's choice, whilsthe said to Christina--

  "And all this time I have most rudely left your question unanswered.You asked my name: it is Mernside--Rupert Mernside."

  "Oh!" was the only word that jerked itself out of Christina's lips,whilst her eyes gazed at him with an expression of such unmistakabledismay, that he looked at her in surprise.

  "Have you any unpleasant associations with my name?" he asked. "Hasanybody called Mernside ever annoyed you?"

  "Oh, no!" she answered quickly. "Only--once I heard the namebefore--just R. Mernside--and I was surprised when--when it turned outto be your name too." The words were so incoherent, the sentence sooddly turned, that Rupert only looked as he felt, more puzzled thanbefore.

  "I had not ever seen you, had I, until I saw you in Baba's nursery?" hequestioned.

  "No--never." She looked increasingly disconcerted, beneath his puzzledstare. "It was only--that I had heard--had come across the namebefore, and it--surprised me to hear--it again."

  Not wishing to add to her almost painful embarrassment, Ruperttactfully changed the subject, but being an unusually observant man, henoticed that she was not really at her ease during the whole course ofhis visit. He rose to go, therefore, earlier than he would otherwisehave done, seeing how singularly peaceful he found the home-likeatmosphere. The girl, with her sweet eyes and restful manner, the babywith her flower-like face, and her loving ways; the old-world firelitroom, the pervading sense of what was child-like, simple, serene--allthese soothed the man, racked with suspense and misery. It was withreluctance that he closed the door upon it all, Baba's parting wordsechoing in his ears, as he ran downstairs, and out into the fog of theDecember evening--

  "I think you are just 'zackly like the prince--my pretty lady'sprince--and she's the princess!"

  Walking briskly up the village street in the direction of the inn, hesmiled, as the words spoken in the clear little voice recurred to himagain, and the picture of the child and the girl stayed in his mindduring the remainder of the evening, whilst he sat in theuncompromisingly dull sitting-room with Wilfred, listening with veryfluctuating attention to that young man's chatter, about motoring,sport, and the possibilities of a Frontier campaign.

  "And what about Baba and her nurse?" the young man ended by saying."As Baba's uncle, I believe it was really my stern duty to go and lookher up."

  "Ah, well, I happen to be her guardian," Rupert answered drily; "andyou were very much occupied with that American and his Daimler, when Iwent out----"

  "And has the nurse the bronze hair of the typical adventuress, onlytell me that," Staynes answered, stretching out his long legs to thefire. "If she has, I shall feel it imperative to call on Babato-morrow, before----"

  "Don't talk rot, my good fellow." Rupert's tones ha
d in them a note ofirritation, which his astute cousin was not slow to observe. "Didn't Iexplain to you that Cicely, with all her tenderness of heart, has toomuch common sense to give over Baba to the care of any doubtful sort ofperson? The child's nurse is--just a nice, quiet girl, who looks afterher well and keeps her happy."

  "Great Scott! _A nice, quiet girl_! I think I can safely take her ontrust, if you are satisfied that she is--nice--and quiet. Theadventuress appealed to me, but nice quiet girls--no, thank you,Rupert! Now if only she had been like that delightful young personwith green eyes, who stopped the car the other day--I--should have felttwinges of conscience about my duty as an uncle."

  "What an utter rotter you are!" In spite of himself Mernside laughed,knowing from a long and intimate acquaintance with Wilfred, that theyoung man's surface nonsense went no deeper than the surface, and thatStaynes was in no sense of the word a Lothario. A slight, a veryslight, twinge afflicted his own conscience, when he remembered theidentity of the girl he had left that afternoon, in the home-like,firelit room, with the girl to whom his cousin had just alluded.

  "There is no necessity to tell him that the two girls are one and thesame," Rupert argued with himself. "Some day, presumably, he will meetMiss Moore, and he may then recognise her again. But the probabilityis that by that time, the motor incident will have gone out of hishead." Meanwhile, throughout the bantering conversation he carried onwith Wilfred, he found himself constantly wondering why the sound ofhis name, had caused Baba's nurse such surprise and embarrassment. Shehad seemed so friendly, so natural, so simple, until the moment whenhis name had been mentioned, and then she had changed into hesitatingself-consciousness, her eyes afraid to meet his, her manner uneasy andshy.

  The real reason for the change in her never, of course, occurred tohim. It was only very occasionally that he even remembered theannoying episode of the matrimonial advertisement, and then merely witha passing feeling of regret, that he had failed to help the girl whohad been his fellow-victim in Jack Layton's hoax. The girl's initialshad faded from his memory, in the more personal and acute trouble ofMargaret Stanforth's continued absence and silence, and he never for amoment connected the writer of the wistful little note signed "C.M.,"with Baba's newest and most devoted slave. If his thoughts thatevening ran with curious persistency on Christina, her thoughts turnedwith no less persistency to him and his visit, and above all, to thedismaying discovery that he was the R. Mernside to whom she hadaudaciously written, who in return had written to her so kindly. AfterBaba had been safely tucked up in her cot, sleepily asseverating thatshe meant to go for a ride in Cousin Rupert's car, and that he was "herChristina's prince," Christina herself returned back to thesitting-room, and, seated before the fire, went over in her own mindall the conversation of the afternoon, with its final climax.

  "And I don't know whether I ought to tell him who I really am, or not,"the girl reflected, looking deep into the heart of the glowing coals."He was so kind to-day, but I don't believe he would go on feeling kindto a girl who could answer an advertisement like that--even though hewould still be kind, because he is a gentleman. I wonder if I ought totell him? And yet--it would be horrible--horrible to have to say it.I should be so ashamed---so dreadfully ashamed. Only--I think,perhaps--he would understand how poor I was, how desperate I felt, thatday when I wrote to him. He has such an understanding face, and hiseyes look as if they had seen so much sorrow, so that he would knowwhat other people's sorrows mean. I wish--I--could be a rest-bringerto him." From that thought, she drifted away to the lonely house inthe valley, to the beautiful woman whose troubled face and deep,anguished eyes haunted the girl like an obsession, and to the sick man,whose death, so Dr. Fergusson had said, was only perhaps a matter of afew short weeks. What strange tragedy was hidden by the four walls ofthat lonely house? What did it all mean--the secrecy, the isolation,and above all the trouble that had been written so plainly on thatbeautiful woman's face?

  "I don't suppose I shall ever see her again," was Christina's final andregretful thought, as she rose to go to bed. "I wish people didn'thave to be like 'ships that pass in the night'--only passing--notstaying together for a little while."