About Peggy Saville Part 19

It was fully half an hour later when Peggy crept along the pa.s.sage, and took advantage of a quiet moment to slip into the room and seat herself in a sheltered corner. Quick as she was, however, somebody's eyes were even quicker, for a tall figure stepped before her, and an aggrieved voice cried loudly--

"Well, I hope you are smart enough to satisfy yourself, now that you _are_ ready! You have taken long enough, I must say. What about that first waltz that you promised to have with me?"

Peggy drew in her breath with a gasp of dismay.

"Oh, Rob, I am sorry! I forgot all about it. I've been so perturbed.

Something awful has occurred. You heard about it, of course--"

"No, I didn't? What on earth," began the boy anxiously; but so soon as he heard the two words "Rosalind's dress!" he shrugged his shoulders in contemptuous indifference. "Oh, that! I heard something about it, but I didn't take much notice. Spilt some ink, didn't you? What's the odds if you did? Accidents will happen, and she has a dozen others to choose from. I don't see anything wrong with the dress. It looks decent enough."

Peggy followed the direction of his eyes, and caught a glimpse of Rosalind floating past on the arm of a tall soldierly youth. She was sparkling with smiles, and looking as fresh and spotless as on the moment when she had stepped across the threshold of her own room.

Neither face nor dress bore any trace of the misfortune of an hour before, and Peggy heaved a sigh of relief as she watched her to and fro.

"Jolly enough, isn't she? There's nothing for you to fret about, you see," said Rob consolingly. "She has forgotten all about it, and the best thing you can do is to follow her example. What would you think of some light refreshment? Let's go to the dining-room and drown our sorrows in strawberry ice. Then we can have a waltz, and try a vanilla--and a polka, and some lemonade! That's, my idea of enjoying myself. Come along, while you get the chance!--"

"Oh, Rob, you _are_ greedy!" protested Peggy; nevertheless she rose blithely enough, and her eyes began to sparkle with some of their wonted vivacity. There was something strong and rea.s.suring about Robert's presence; he looked upon things in such an eminently sensible, matter-of-fact way, that one was ashamed to give way to moods and tenses in his company.

Peggy began to feel that there was still some possibility of happiness in life, and on her way to the door she came face to face with Lady Darcy, who rea.s.sured her still further by smiling as amiably as if nothing had happened.

"Well, dear, enjoying yourself? Got plenty of partners?" Then in a whispered aside, "The dress looks all right! Such a clever suggestion of yours. Dear, dear, what a fright we had!" and she swept away, leaving an impression of beauty, grace, and affability which the girl was powerless to resist. When Lady Darcy chose to show herself at her best, there was a charm about her which subjugated all hearts, and, from the moment that the sweet tired eyes smiled into hers, Peggy Saville forgot her troubles and tripped away to eat strawberry ices, and dance over the polished floor with a heart as light as her heels.

One party is very much like another. The room may be larger or smaller, the supper more or less substantial, but the programme is the same in both cases, and there is little to be told about even the grandest of its kind. Somebody wore pink; somebody wore blue; somebody fell down on the floor in the middle of the lancers, which are no longer the stately and dignified dance of yore, but an ungainly romp more befitting a kitchen than a ballroom; somebody went in to supper twice over, and somebody never went at all, but blushed unseen in a corner, thinking longingly of turkey, trifle, and crackers; and then the carriages began to roll up to the door, brothers and sisters paired demurely together, stammered out a bashful "Enjoyed myself so much! Thanks for a pleasant evening," and raced upstairs for coats and shawls.

By half-past twelve all the guests had departed except the vicarage party, and the sons and daughters of the old squire who lived close by, who had been pressed to stay behind for that last half-hour which is often the most enjoyable of the whole evening.

Lord and Lady Darcy and the grown-up visitors retired into the drawing-room to regale themselves with sandwiches and ices, and the young people stormed the supper-room, interrupted the servants in their work of clearing away the good things, seated themselves indiscriminately on floor, chair, or table, and despatched a second supper with undiminished appet.i.te. Then Esther mounted the platform where the band had been seated, and played a last waltz, and a very last waltz, and "really the last waltz of all." The squire's son played a polka with two fingers, and a great deal of loud pedal, and the fun grew faster and more uproarious with every moment. Even Rosalind threw aside young ladylike affectations and pranced about without thinking of appearances, and when at last the others left the room to prepare for the drive home she seized Peggy's arm in eager excitement.

"Peggy! Peggy! Such a joke! I told them to come back to say good-bye, and I am going to play a twick! I'm going to be a ghost, and glide out from behind the shwubs, and fwighten them. I can do it beautifully.

See!" She turned down the gas as she spoke, threw her light gauze skirt over her head, and came creeping across the room with stealthy tread, and arms outstretched, while Peggy clapped her hands in delight.

"Lovely! Lovely! It looks exactly like wings. It makes me quite creepy. Don't come out if Mellicent is alone, whatever you do. She would be scared out of her seven senses. Just float gently along toward them, and keep your hands forward so as to hide your face. They will recognise you if you don't."

"Oh, if you can see my face, we must have less light. There are too many candles, I'll put out the ones on the mantelpiece. Stay where you are, and tell me when it is wight," Rosalind cried gaily, and ran across the room on her tiny pink silk slippers.

So long as she lived Peggy Saville remembered the next minutes; to the last day of her life she had only to shut her eyes and the scene rose up before her, clear and vivid as in a picture. The stretch of empty room, with its fragrant banks of flowers; the graceful figure flitting across the floor, its outline swathed in folds of misty white; the glimpse of a lovely, laughing face as Rosalind stretched out her arm to reach the silver candelabra, the sudden flare of light which caught the robe of gauze, and swept it into flame. It all happened within the s.p.a.ce of a minute, but it was one of those minutes the memory of which no years can destroy. She had hardly time to realise the terror of the situation before Rosalind was rushing towards her with outstretched hands, calling aloud in accents of frenzied appeal--

"Peggy! Peggy! Oh, save me, Peggy! I'm burning! Save me! Save me!"

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A NIGHT OF TERROR.

While the young folks had been enjoying themselves in the ballroom, their elders had found the time hang somewhat heavily on their hands.

The evening had not been so interesting to them as to their juniors.

Lady Darcy was tired with the preparations of the day, and the countess with her journey from town. Both were fain to yawn behind their fans from time to time, and were longing for the moment to come when they could retire to bed. If only those indefatigable children would say good-night and take themselves off! But the echo of the piano still sounded from the room, and seemed to go on and on, in endless repet.i.tion.

Everything comes to those who wait, however--even the conclusion of a ball to the weary chaperon. At long past midnight the strains died away, and in the hope of an early release the ladies roused themselves to fresh conversational effort. What they said was unimportant, and could never be remembered; but at one moment, as it seemed, they were smiling and exchanging their little commonplace amenities, two languid, fine ladies whose aim in life might have been to disguise their own feelings and hide the hearts that G.o.d had given them; the next the artificial smiles were wiped away, and they were clinging together, two terrified, cowering women, with a mother's soul in their faces--a mother's love and fear and dread! A piercing cry had sounded through the stillness, and another, and another, and, while they sat paralysed with fear, footsteps came tearing along the pa.s.sage, the door was burst open, and a wild, dishevelled-looking figure rushed into the room. A curtain was wound round face and figure, but beneath its folds a long white arm gripped convulsively at the air, and two little feet staggered about in pink silk slippers.

Lady Darcy gave a cry of anguish; but her terror seemed to hold her rooted to the spot, and it was her husband who darted forward and caught the swaying figure in his arms. The heavy wrappings came loose in his grasp, and as they did so an unmistakable smell pervaded the room--the smell of singed and burning clothing. A cloud of blackened rags fluttered to the ground as the last fold of the curtain was unloosed, and among them--most pitiful sight of all--were stray gleams of gold where a severed lock of hair lay on the carpet, its end still turned in glistening curl.

"Rosalind! Rosalind!" gasped the poor mother, clutching the arms of her chair, and looking as if she were about to faint herself, as she gazed upon the pitiful figure of her child. The lower portion of Rosalind's dress was practically uninjured, but the gauze skirt and all the frills and puffing round the neck hung in tatters, her hair was singed and roughened, and as the air touched her skin she screamed with pain, and held her hands up to her neck and face.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! I am burning! Cover me up! Cover me up! I shall die!

Oh, mother, mother! The pain--the pain!"

She reeled as if about to faint, yet if anyone attempted to approach she beat them off with frantic hands, as if in terror of being touched.

One of the ladies ran forward with a shawl, and wrapped it forcibly round the poor scarred shoulders, while the gentlemen hurried out of the room to send for a doctor and make necessary arrangements. One of the number came back almost immediately, with the news that he had failed to discover the cause of the accident. There was no sign of fire upstairs, the ballroom was dark and deserted, the servants engaged in setting the entertaining rooms in order. For the present, at least, the cause of the accident remained a mystery, and the distracted father and mother occupied themselves in trying to pacify their child.

"I'll carry you upstairs, my darling. We will put something on your skin which will take away the pain. Try to be quiet, and tell us how it happened. What were you doing to set yourself on fire?"

"Peggy! Peggy!" gasped Rosalind faintly. Her strength was failing by this time, and she could hardly speak; but Lady Darcy's face stiffened into an awful anger at the sound of that name. She turned like a tigress to her husband, her face quivering with anger.

"That girl again! That wicked girl! It is the second time to-night!

She has killed the child; but she shall be punished! I'll have her punished! She shall not kill my child, and go free! I'll--I'll--"

"Hush, hush, Beatrice! Take care! You frighten Rosalind. We must get her to bed. There is not a moment to lose."

Lord Darcy beckoned to one of the servants, who by this time were crowding in at the door, and between them they lifted poor, groaning Rosalind in their arms, and carried her up the staircase, down which she had tripped so gaily a few hours before. Tenderly as they held her, she moaned with every movement, and, when she was laid on her bed, it seemed for a moment as if consciousness were about to forsake her. Then suddenly a light sprung into her eyes. She lifted her hand and gasped out one word--just one word--repeated over and over again in a tone of agonised entreaty.

"Peggy! Peggy! Peggy!"

"Yes, darling, yes! I'll go to her. Be quiet--only be quiet!"

Lady Darcy turned away with a shudder as the maid and an old family servant began the task of removing the clothes from Rosalind's writhing limbs, and, seizing her husband by the arm, drew him out on the landing.

Her face was white, but her eyes gleamed, and the words hissed as they fell from her lips.

"Find that girl, and turn her out of this house! I will not have her here another hour! Do you hear--not a minute! Send her away at once before I see her! Don't let me see her! I can't be responsible for what I would do!"

"Yes, yes, dear, I'll send her away! Try to calm yourself. Remember you have work to do Rosalind will need you."

The poor old lord went stooping away, his tired face looking aged and haggard with anxiety. His beautiful young daughter was scarcely less dear to him than to her mother, and the sound of her cries cut to his heart; yet in the midst of his anguish he had a pang of compa.s.sion for the poor child who, as he believed, was the thoughtless cause of the accident. What agony of remorse must be hers! What torture she would now be suffering!

The guests and servants were standing huddled together on the landing upstairs, or running to and fro to procure what was needed. Every thought was concentrated on Rosalind, and Rosalind alone, and the part of the house where the dance had been held was absolutely deserted.

He took his way along the gaily decorated hall, noted with absent eye the disordered condition of the "harem," which had been pointed out so proudly at the beginning of the evening, and entered the empty room.

The lights were out, except for a few candles scattered here and there among the flowers. He walked slowly forward, saw the silver candlestick on the floor before the fireplace, and stood gazing at it with a quick appreciation of what had happened. For some reason or other Rosalind had tried to reach the candle, and the light had caught her gauzy skirt, which had burst into flames. It was easy--terribly easy to imagine; but in what way had Peggy Saville been responsible for the accident, so that her name should sound so persistently on Rosalind's lips,--and who had been the Good Samaritan who had come to the rescue with that thick curtain which had killed the flames before they had time to finish the work of destruction?

Lord Darcy peered curiously round. The oak floor stretched before him dark and still, save where its polished surface reflected the light overhead; but surely in the corner opposite to where he stood there was a darker ma.s.s--a shadow deeper than the rest?

He walked towards it, bending forward with straining eyes. Another curtain of the same pattern as that which had enveloped Rosalind--a curtain of rich Oriental hues with an unaccountable patch of white in the centre. What was it? It must be part of the fabric itself. Lord Darcy told himself that he had no doubt on the subject, yet the way across the room seemed unaccountably long, and his heart beat fast with apprehension. In another moment he stood in the corner, and knew too well the meaning of that patch of white, for Peggy Saville lay stretched upon the curtain, motionless, unconscious--to all appearance, dead!

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.