Elizabeth's Campaign Part 42

'That, I think, was the telephone?'

Elizabeth rose--

'May I go? It is probably Captain Dell.'

She hurried away to her office-room, where the call-bell was insistently ringing.

'Yes--who is that?'

'A telegram please--for Mr. Mannering--from London.'

'Wait a moment--I will tell Mr. Mannering.'

But as she turned to go back to the library she saw the Squire had followed her, and was standing at the door. He came forward at once and took up the receiver.

Elizabeth watched him with a fast beating pulse. He heard the message, took out a pencil and wrote it down on a piece of paper lying near, put up the receiver, and turned to her.

'It is from Aubrey. "Desmond is severely wounded. Please come at once. Permission will be given to you and Pamela to go to France. I hope to go with you. Will meet you King's Cross 8.40. Aubrey."'

He steadied himself a moment by a hand on Elizabeth's table. She went up to him, and took his other hand, which closed an instant on hers.

'I thought so,' he said, under his breath. 'I knew it.... Telephone, please, to Fallerton for the taxi, while I go and speak to Forest.'

She gave the order and then hastened into the hall where Mrs.

Gaddesden was busy tr.i.m.m.i.n.g a hat. The Squire's eldest daughter sprang up at sight of Elizabeth.

'Oh, what is it? I know it's bad news--it's Desmond!'

Elizabeth repeated the telegram. 'Your father is going off at once.

I have telephoned for the car.'

'Oh, but I must go too--of course I must!' said Alice, weeping.

'Where is my maid?'

Elizabeth pointed out gently that, in speaking of the permits for France, Major Mannering had only referred to the Squire and Pamela.

'Oh, but he must have meant me too--of course he must! Where is my maid?' She rang the upstairs' bell violently. 'Oh, father, how _awful_!'--the Squire had just entered the hall--'of course I'm going with you?'

'What does she mean?' said the Squire impatiently to Elizabeth.

'Tell her I'm going alone.'

'But, father, you must take me!' cried Alice, running forward with clasped hands. 'He is my brother! I must see him again!'

'He asks for Pamela,' said the Squire grimly. 'Aubrey shall wire to you. You'd better stay here--if Miss Bremerton will look after you.'

'I don't want to be looked after--I want to look after Desmond and you,' said Alice, with sobs.

The Squire's eyes travelled over the soft elaboration of her dress and hair--all her perfumed and fashionable person.

'It is impossible,' he said sharply. Then turning to Elizabeth he gave her a few directions about his letters. 'I shall get money in town. I will wire directly we arrive.'

Alice was silenced, and sat half sulky, half sobbing, by the fire, while the preparations for departure went forward. She offered help hysterically once or twice, but it was not needed.

The little car from the village arrived in half an hour. The Squire stood at the hall door waiting for it. He had not spoken since the news arrived except to give the most necessary orders. But as he saw the car nearing the house, he turned to Elizabeth.

'I expect we shall cross to-night. I shall wire you to-morrow.' Then to Forest--

'Do your best to help Miss Bremerton. She is in charge of everything.'

'Aye, sir. You'll give our duty to Mr. Desmond, sir. I trust you'll bring him home.'

The Squire made no reply. He stood motionless till the car arrived, stepped into it, and was gone.

Elizabeth went back into the house, and to Alice Gaddesden, still sobbing by the fire. At sight of Elizabeth she broke out into complaints of her father's unkindness, mixed presently, to Elizabeth's dismay, with jealousy of her father's secretary.

'I don't know why father didn't let me help him with his packing, and it's I who should have been left in charge! I'm his eldest daughter--it is natural that I should be. I can tell you it's very hard--to see somebody--who's not a relation--doing--doing everything for him!--so that he won't let anybody else advise him--or do anything! It is very--very--wounding for us all. Pamela feels it--I know she does--and Desmond too.'

Elizabeth, very white and distressed, knelt down by her and tried to calm her. But the flood of angry self-pity could not be stayed.

'Oh, I daresay you don't mean it, but you have--yes, you have a way of getting everybody's attention. Of course you're awfully clever--much cleverer than I am--or Pamela. But still it--it isn't pleasant. I know Pamela felt it dreadfully--being cut out with people she likes--people she cares about--and who--who might care for her--like Arthur Chicksands. I believe--yes, I do believe--though she never told me--that's why she went to London.'

Elizabeth rose from her knees. For a moment she was struck dumb. And when at last she spoke it was only to repeat the name Mrs. Gaddesden had mentioned in utter bewilderment.

'Captain Chicksands! What can you mean?'

'Why, of course girls can't hold their own with older women when the older women are so charming and clever--and all that'--cried Mrs.

Gaddesden, trying desperately to justify herself--'but I've been awfully sorry for Pamela! Very likely it's not your fault--you couldn't know, I daresay!'

'No, indeed, I didn't know!' said Elizabeth, in a low voice, 'and I can't understand now what you mean.'

'Don't you remember the day Arthur Chicksands spent here just before Desmond went? Don't you remember how he talked to you all the afternoon about the woods? Well, _I_ saw Pamela's face as she was sitting behind you.'

Mrs. Gaddesden raised a triumphant though tear-stained countenance.

She was avenging not only her father's latest slight, but a long series of grievances--small and great--connected with Elizabeth's position in the house. And the Squire's farewell to her had turned even her grief to gall.

'If Pamela was hurt, I was a most innocent cause!' said Elizabeth at last, indignantly. 'And if you or any one else had given me the smallest hint--'

'How could we?' was the rather sulky reply. 'Pamela, of course, never said a word--to me. But I rather think she did say something to Desmond.'

'Desmond!' cried Elizabeth under her breath. She turned slowly, and went away, leaving Mrs. Gaddesden panting and a little scared at what she had done.

Elizabeth went back to the library, where there was much to put in order. She forced herself to tidy the Squire's table, and to write a business letter or two. But when that was done she dropped her face in her hands, and shed a few very bitter tears.

She seemed to herself to have failed miserably. In truth, her heart clung to all these people. She soon attached herself to those with whom she lived, and was but little critical of them. The warm, maternal temper which went with her shrewd brain seemed to need perpetually objects on which to spend itself. She could have loved the twins dearly had they let her, and day by day, in the absence of the mother, she had been accustomed to nurse, she had even positively enjoyed 'petting' Mrs. Gaddesden, holding her wool for her, seeing to her hot-water bottles, and her breakfast in bed.

Pamela in love with Arthur Chicksands! And she remembered that a faint idea of it had once crossed her mind, only to be entirely dismissed and forgotten.

'But I ought to have seen--I ought to have known! Am I really a vampire?'