Christina Page 17

  CHAPTER XVII.

  "WHO DO YOU MEAN BY SIR ARTHUR?"

  Boxing Day had dawned bright and sunny, but before the afternoon, rainbegan to fall, and a rising wind was sweeping over the moor, when,between three and four o'clock, Denis Fergusson drove along the uplandroad. A case of pneumonia in a desolate hamlet had suddenly taken agrave turn, and as he sped across the open stretch of country, histhoughts were concentrated on his patient, and on the gravity of hercondition. Having threshed out in his mind all the possibilities withregard to this anxious charge, he allowed his thoughts to drift back tohis afternoon at Bramwell Castle two days before, to Baba's winsomeways, to the sweetness of Baba's mother, to his own dream idyll, thedreaming of which had, he was convinced, been such an absurdity, andyet--and yet, the dream had seemed so wonderful.

  "People may scoff at the bare idea of love at first sight," he mused,as the car passed on its rapid way in the gathering twilight,"but--sometimes it happens--even to the most prosaic of us." And outof the grey mists that crept over the brown expanse of heather andbracken, he seemed to see Cicely's face, smiling that fascinating smileof hers, which was so childlike, so appealing, so sweet.

  "And her eyes are like the speedwell in the June hedges," his thoughtsran on; "such a heavenly blue, and when she looks up into your face,and her eyes look at you, with the wistfulness of a lovely child'seyes, you want to take her in your arms, and kiss her--and kiss her----"

  "By Jove, my good fellow, you are a fool," he broke in upon his owninward colloquy, "an abject fool. The little lady of the speedwelleyes, is as far above you as the stars in heaven, and you know it. Astruggling South London doctor might quite as well aspire to the planetVenus, as to the lady of Bramwell Castle. The less such ideas areencouraged, the better."

  Resolutely thrusting from him the thoughts that had obtruded themselvesunbidden, he drove rapidly on, whilst the grey mists deepened upon thecountry side; the rain that had begun in a fine drizzle, began to comedown in torrents, and the wind rose gradually to the fury of ahurricane. Across the open stretch of heathland, the gale broke withterrific force, the rain lashed Fergusson's face and ran in swiftstreams down his mackintoshed shoulders and arms; and it was with alittle sigh of relief that he turned out of the main road, and into thelane at whose bottom stood the lonely house. Here there was a certainamount of shelter from the high hedges and overshadowing trees, thoughthe great gusts of wind shook the trees until they creaked, andgroaned, and bent beneath the blast; and even in the depths of thedesolate valley itself, Fergusson found himself nearly lifted from hisfeet by the hurricane, when he alighted at the green gate in the wall.Elizabeth appeared quickly in answer to his ring, and her grave facemade him say sharply--

  "She is not worse?"

  "She seems less like herself to-night," the servant answered, a littlecatch in her voice; "she doesn't always know where she is, or who istalking to her. I think--she has got to the end. She can bear nomore." The expression used, struck the doctor strangely.

  "I think she has got to the end." The same feeling had been in his ownmind when last he had visited the beautiful, lonely lady; it had seemedto him, too, as though she had come to the end of her powers ofendurance--as though, having borne lash after lash from fortune, shecould bear no more.

  When he entered her room, he found her lying very still, her facescarcely less white than the pillow against which it rested, her greateyes fixed on the leaping flames of the fire, her hands folded on thesheet, in a way which he had noticed was peculiar to her, the fingersof her right hand close clasped about the plain gold ring, that restedon the third finger of her left.

  "Whatever the poor chap who has gone to his account was or did, thiswoman loved him with an amazing love," Fergusson thought, as he hadthought a hundred times before, whilst he spoke gently to his patient,seating himself beside her, and observing her closely, though he talkedof everything and anything excepting her health.

  "Do you know," she said presently, her voice very low and dreamy. "Ithink I have come to the end." This repetition of Elizabeth's words,and of his own thoughts, startled Fergusson, but he did not betray hissurprise, only answering gently--

  "You are worn out now. You have had a long strain, and you were notquite fit to stand it." She smiled up at him, an infinitely patheticsmile.

  "It is not only that. I don't want to be morbid. I don't mean to bemorbid. But something--seems to have snapped inside me--some vitality,some power has gone, and--I have come to the end."

  "You feel that now, because of the shock and strain, and because, atthe best of times, you are not strong. By and by----"

  "Ah! but I don't think there will be any by and by," she interruptedquietly, "and I am not sorry. Life has brought so much more pain thanjoy--that--I am not either sorry or afraid. Only I wish I could havedone more for my world, before I went out of it," she added halfwhimsically, half sadly, a little smile breaking over her face.

  "Perhaps what you have been, has had even more influence over yourworld than what you have done," Fergusson said quietly; "it is notalways the most apparently active people, who have the greatest effecton their fellows."

  She smiled at him again, but she did not continue the conversation,allowing it to drift away to other topics, until Fergusson, havinggiven her his orders, and promised to send her a new medicine on themorrow, took his departure.

  "What a baffling mystery the woman is," he reflected, as he walkedacross the garden to the door in the wall. "I am not more curious thanthe average man, but I confess she has aroused my curiosity. What hasher life been? And why has she----" At this point in his meditationshe opened the door, and was on the point of passing out into the road,when he became aware of a figure, leaning against the wall close to thedoor itself. The last remnants of daylight had almost died away, therain was falling in pitiless torrents, and Fergusson, peering throughthe twilight gloom, recognised with horror the face of Christina Moore,looking terribly white and exhausted in the dimness. Her crouchingposition seemed to indicate that she was tired out, and when Fergussonwent quickly to her side, and put a hand on her shoulder, she shrankback and shivered from head to foot, lifting such frightened eyes tohis, that he peered this way and that, thinking she must be fleeingfrom some dastardly pursuer. But, excepting for the moaning of thewind in the trees, and the swishing of the rain, no sound broke thesilence, and save the girl herself, there was no sign of any otherhuman being in the lane.

  "What has happened?" he asked, speaking very quietly, to calm herovermastering excitement; "come into the house out of the rain, andtell me what is the matter. Why, you are wet through," he addedsharply, as he put his hand through the girl's arm, and drew her up theflagged path to the front door.

  "Yes, I'm wet through," she answered in slow, mechanical tones. "I--Ibelieve it has rained ever since I left the station."

  "The station? Have you walked from the station?" They were standingin the hall now, and by the light of a hanging lamp in its centre,Fergusson could see that the wet was running from Christina's garments,and dropping in small pools on the floor, and that the look ofexhaustion was deepening on her face.

  "Yes, I walked," she said. "I hadn't much money. I was afraid Ishouldn't have enough for the cab. They might have called me a thiefagain--and--I am not a thief--indeed, indeed, I am not." Her eyes methis once more, with so strange and dazed a look, that he began towonder whether some great shock had unhinged her brain, but he onlysaid, more quietly than before:--

  "I am quite sure you are not a thief. I will call Elizabeth, and shewill take care of you. Does Mrs. Stanforth expect you?"

  "Oh! no, no," Christina spoke breathlessly; "only I was so frightened,I didn't know what to do, when they said I was a thief, for I can'tprove that I am not. I can't prove anything. I have only my bareword. Everybody who could help me is dead."

  Feeling more and more mystified by every word she spoke, Fergusson rangthe bell, and when Elizabeth promptly answered his summons, a
nd staredin mute surprise at the dripping figure standing under the lamp, hesaid tersely:--

  "Miss Moore has arrived unexpectedly, and she is very wet. Will youput her to bed with hot bottles, and give her something hot to drink?Don't let her talk to-night. I will come round and see her in themorning."

  Perhaps Elizabeth, in the long years of her service with Margaret, hadlearnt to accustom herself to surprises, and she expressed noastonishment now; but a look of compassion for the drenched andexhausted girl crossed her kindly face; and, with a comprehending nodto the doctor, she took Christina's hand and led her upstairs, the girlgoing with her, as unresistingly as a little child might have done.

  "Worn out, utterly worn out, and frightened to death," Fergussoncommented inwardly; "now what can have happened to bring her here inthis condition, and to make her say such extraordinary things about notbeing a thief. I must tell Mrs. Stanforth what liberties I have takenwith her house, and come back as early as I can to-morrow." He ranlightly upstairs again to his patient's room, and told her ofChristina's unlooked-for arrival, finding, to his relief, that she wasin no wise startled or upset by what she heard.

  "Poor little girl," was her soft comment; "we will take great care ofher. Elizabeth loves having a young thing to mother; we will do ourbest for her, and perhaps in the morning she will be able to explainherself. It is difficult to imagine what can have happened; she seemedto be so happy in her work."

  "It is impossible to suppose that Lady Cicely can have been unkind toher," Fergusson answered thoughtfully; "she could not be unkind to aliving soul. However, speculation is a fruitless task; we must waittill Miss Moore can tell us her own story. I did not dare question herto-night, she was already completely overwrought."

  And it was still a very wan and white Christina, who was taken the nextmorning into Margaret's room by Elizabeth; and Margaret's observanteyes saw at once that all the girl's nerves were on the stretch, thatshe was in a condition of acute tension. The wish to help this youngthing in her hour of need, the sudden necessity for stretching out asuccouring hand to another human being, acted as a trumpet call toMargaret's own strong character, and she looked more herself thismorning, than she had done for many weeks.

  "You poor child," she said to Christina, a motherly tenderness in heraccents; "have you slept properly; and are you rested?"

  "I woke rather often," the girl answered with a nervous glance abouther. "I kept on starting up, and fancying they had come with thepolice."

  "Why should anyone come with the police?" Margaret asked gently; "tellme what has happened--why are you afraid? Surely Lady Cicely cannothave treated you unfairly or unkindly?"

  "No--o," Christina faltered. "I think she believed in me, but--SirArthur----"

  "Sir Arthur," Margaret interrupted, a sudden sharp note in her voice;"who--do you mean by Sir Arthur?"

  "Sir Arthur Congreve. He is Lady Cicely's cousin--her husband'scousin." Margaret's white face flushed brightly, but she did notspeak. "It was he who accused me of--being a thief; and I was sofrightened, so dreadfully frightened, that I ran away."

  "Ran away? Oh! my dear; try to collect yourself, and tell me quietlyall about everything. Why did Sir Arthur make such an accusationagainst you?"

  "He saw--a piece of jewellery I was wearing, and he--said it hadbelonged to his wife--that--Lady Congreve had been robbed, and that Ihad robbed her. He was sure of it, quite, quite sure, and I hadnothing but my bare word to give him; I could prove nothing."

  "But--I can't understand. Why should Sir Arthur imagine you would wishto steal El---- I mean his wife's jewel. Had she lost it at BramwellCastle?"

  "No; she lost it some weeks ago in a train. A young woman took it fromher bag; and they are sure I was the young woman. You see, when I cameto Lady Cicely, I only had references from people who were dead, ormuch too far off to be got at, like the solicitor who is I don't knowwhere in Africa. She took me on trust, and--there isn't anybody herewho can say I am honest, not anybody." Christina's words ended in alittle wail; she put her head down upon the coverlet, and Margaret'shands softly caressed her dusky hair.

  "But why did you run away?" she asked. "Surely it would have beenbetter to face the difficulty? They may think your running away is asign of guilt."

  "I know," the girl answered, lifting her head, and looking intoMargaret's face with despairing eyes. "I thought of that so often as Iwas coming along in the train, but I was afraid to go back. I amafraid to try to face it out, because you see I can prove nothing."

  "When did Sir Arthur make this accusation?"

  "Yesterday; I think it was yesterday," Christina frowned with theeffort of memory. "It was on Christmas evening--yes, that wasyesterday. And when Sir Arthur said he would send for the police, Iran out of the hall, and up to my room. I think I was almost mad. Itore off my frock--my pretty frock that Lady Cicely had given me, andwhen there came a knock at the door, and I heard Lady Cicely's voice, Iwould not let her in at first. And then I opened the door, and shecame in, and begged me to tell just the whole truth. And I said I hadtold the truth--I couldn't make it any different. And she was sosad--her eyes looked all hurt, and she said she couldn't doubt me, andyet Sir Arthur was determined to send for the police. And--then shesaid she would send up my dinner to the nursery. It was Christmas Day,you know," the girl went on, a wistful look in her eyes; "and I hadbeen looking forward so very much to Christmas, in a happy homely homelike Bramwell Castle; and my new frock was so sweet; and then--to thinkof having to eat my Christmas dinner alone in the nursery, accused ofbeing a thief," a little sob caught her breath. "But I didn't eat thedinner at all," she went on hurriedly. "After Lady Cicely had gonedown again, I thought and thought about the police coming, until Icouldn't bear it any more. So I just put on my serge frock, and mythick coat and hat; and whilst dinner was going on in the dining-room,I slipped away, and out of the house. I felt like a wild thing, madwith terror, my only wish was to get right away as fast as I could--Iwas afraid, I was so afraid. And I did not know where to go, or whatto do; and, when the thought of you came into my head, I knew I mustcome straight to you."

  "But, my dear," Margaret's gentle voice broke in, "you say all thishappened last night. Where did you sleep? How could you get away fromBramwell Castle, on Christmas night?"

  "I walked to one of the nearest stations; not the one they generallyuse, but another--Hansley--where no one knew me by sight, and there wasno train till early in the morning. So I just stayed in thewaiting-room all night. They let me--though it wasn't reallyallowed--but they let me do it, because there was nowhere else for meto stay; and in the morning I came away again, and because it wasBoxing Day, the trains were very bad and very slow, and I did not getto Merlands Station till ever so late; and then I walked here."

  "Walked here? From Merlands? But, my dear, it must be seven miles."

  "It seemed like a hundred," Christina answered wearily. "I didn't knowhow to get myself along at last; and it blew and rained, and I thoughtI should die on the road. Only I wanted to get to you."

  Margaret's caressing hand again stroked the girl's dark hair.

  "You poor little thing," she said. "I am glad you came to me, but I amsorry you came away at all. It will make things so much worse for you."

  "But you will keep me here?" Christina pleaded, a look of panic terrorin her eyes. "You won't make me go back to Bramwell? You won't let mebe given up to the police?"

  "We must talk it all over with Dr. Fergusson," was the gentlerejoinder. "I don't feel that I am quite strong enough to decide whatis best for you to do, but Dr. Fergusson will know. He has such asound judgment, and he judges rightly, as well as soundly."

  "It was cowardly of me to run away," the girl exclaimed, clasping herhands together with a curiously childish gesture; "but--I felt soalone--so frightened--and I had no proof that what I said was true. Ihave no proofs now. I can't even make it clear to you, that I am nottelling a pack of lies."

  "Can't
you?" Margaret smiled. "I don't think I want proofs of yourtruthfulness; you carry truth in your face. All the same, for your ownsake, and for the sake of justice, I am sorry you can produce no proofsof your statement."

  "I can't do anything but give my word," the girl said despairingly."Mother gave me the jewel just before she died. It was a greattreasure of hers; she valued it immensely. I think she meant to tellme something more when she gave it me, only--the sentence she began wasnever finished. The two last words she spoke, the very last, were,'Tell Arthur'--and then--she died."

  "Tell--Arthur?" The same startled look which the mention of that namehad before brought into Margaret's eyes, flashed into them again. "Whowas--Arthur?"

  "I--don't know. I never knew anything about my mother's people. I donot even know her maiden name. And that sounds so improbable, that itmade my story about the jewel seem more than ever ridiculous, when Itold it at Bramwell Castle."

  "What a strange complication," Margaret's dark eyes fixed themselvesthoughtfully on Christina's face. "I wonder why your mother kept youin ignorance of her maiden name, and of her family? Have you any ideawhat made her so reticent?

  "No; until lately it never struck me how odd and unusual it is that Ishould not know these things. I never mixed with other girls. Welived a very isolated life, my father and mother and I, and I acceptedeverything in it without question. But now I realise that it was notordinary and normal. And I often wonder about it. But--I shall neverknow what it all meant. They are dead--my father and mother, and theclergyman who knew us in Devonshire is dead; and, as I told you, thesolicitor went to Africa; and I don't know where he is."

  "But these people with whom you lived--the Donaldsons. Surely theymust know something of your history?"

  "Oh! no, they would know nothing. I only knew Mrs. Donaldson at all,because she was staying in the village near our home, and mother waskind to her children, when they were ill. She was in no way anintimate friend of ours. And the people--the very few people we knewin the village, were only acquaintances. There is nobody in the wholeworld who could vouch for my innocence."

  "It is a curious predicament. We can only ask Dr. Fergusson's advice,and act upon it. I wish I could understand why there is something sooddly familiar about your face and voice." Her own low voice waspuzzled. "I believe I have asked you this before; but are you sure,quite sure, we never met until you saw me here?"

  "Quite sure," Christina answered emphatically. "I couldn't haveforgotten you. But I think I must be very like somebody, for lastnight"--she shivered--"just as I crossed the hall of the Castle, I sawLady Congreve give a big start, and she said to Lady Cicely quite loud,I couldn't help hearing her--'My dear Cicely, who is she like?' Ithink I must have a double somewhere."

  "I think you must," Margaret replied slowly. "It is very curious.But, to go back to the more vital matter of the moment. Did you bringaway the jewel which has caused all this trouble?"

  "Why, yes," Christina answered simply. "It was on my neck when SirArthur saw it, and I never took it off. I can show it to you now."Slipping her hand inside her frock, the girl unfastened the slendergold chain, drew out the pendant, and handed it to the woman in the bed.

  "You see," she said, "it is very beautiful and very unique; thatwonderful emerald, with the twisted letters above it; the letters----"

  "Yes--I see," Margaret's voice was low and hoarse, and Christina,roused from her absorption in her own thoughts of the jewel, and of allthat had happened, started when she saw the expression on the other'sface. "I see," Margaret repeated; "the emerald--with brilliants roundit, and above it the twisted letters--A.V.C. But how comes it thatyour mother possessed this pendant with the letters A.V.C.? What doesit mean? My dear child, what _does_ it mean?"