The Children of Wilton Chase Part 18

"I am sorry for you, Collins," said Miss Nelson; "and the story of the accident certainly alters matters a good deal. I do not think Mr.

Wilton will object to Ermengarde's going to Susan for a moment."

"Thank you," said Ermie, with a great breath of relief.

"My dear child, you need not tremble so. Steady, you will fall on your face. Basil, help your sister out of the carriage. We will give you five minutes, Ermengarde. Collins, be sure you send for anything necessary for Susan to the Chase."

Collins touched his hat and withdrew. Ermengarde had already flown down a little path which led directly to the keeper's little cottage.

"Poor child, I did not know she was so sensitive," said Miss Nelson to Basil. He was standing by the side of the carriage, and she thought he had not heard her remark, for he turned his head away.

Meanwhile Ermengarde, having reached the cottage, was promptly taken upstairs to Susy's little attic-room by her mother.

The poor little girl had gone through a night of dreadful suffering, and at another time her flushed face and feverishly bright blue eyes would have excited Ermengarde's pity, and she would have been as gentle and sympathetic in her manner as heart could wish. The influence of fear, however, and the consciousness of wrong-doing, have a wonderfully hardening effect upon the best of us, and Ermie only waited until Mrs. Collins's back was turned to say crossly: "What did you mean by sending for me in that fashion, Susy? and after what I said to you yesterday. I do think you have no consideration! I got a horrible fright when your father came up, and asked point-blank for me, and before Miss Nelson, too!"

The harsh words made Susy cry.

"I'm dreadful bad," she said, her pretty lips quivering. "Oh, Miss Ermie, don't look at me like that. I did think you'd have been sorry for me, and when I always set such store by you, miss."

"Of course I'm sorry for you, Susy, but I really can't stay now, or they'll remark it. If you want me very badly, I'll try and slip up here one evening. There, if you like, and it really quiets you, I'll come to-night. I'll promise that I'll manage it somehow, but I must go now."

"Oh, miss, please take the picture with you! Put it in your pocket, miss. Oh, _do_ take it away, Miss Ermengarde; I had such awful, awful dreams about it all night long, and I fancied as the little lady herself come and told me I was to put the picture back. I saw her come in at the door heaps of times, and she always told me to put the picture back, and to be quick about it. _Please_ put the picture into your pocket, Miss Ermengarde."

Ermengarde laughed harshly.

"You must be mad, Susan," she said. "How could I put a miniature in a gla.s.s frame into the pocket of this thin dress? Why, everyone would see it, and then where should I be? It's all your own fault, Susy; you would not give up the picture yesterday when I coaxed you to, and now you must keep it until it is convenient for me to fetch it. If I can, I'll come for it to-night."

"Mother will find it out, miss. I can't move hand nor foot, and mother has only to open my drawer at the top there, and she'll see it.

Mother'll know at once that I took it, for the servants at the Chase are talking about it. I do wish you'd get it out of the house somehow, Miss Ermengarde."

"I can't, I tell you. It wouldn't get into my pocket. Oh, dear, dear, there's your mother's step on the stairs, and I must fly. What a horrid troublesome girl you are, Susy. I wish I had never made friends with you!"

Poor Susan began to cry feebly.

"Oh, Miss Ermie, you are cruel," she said. "And mother is sure to open that top drawer, for I keep all my handkerchiefs in it. I pretended the key was lost, but she found it herself this morning, and she was just going to open the drawer when you came in, and I thought I was saved. _Please_, Miss Ermie, if you won't take the picture away, put it somewhere else."

Mrs. Collins's step was now really heard on the creaking stairs.

Ermengarde flew to the drawer, unlocked it, seized the little miniature and looked round her wildly. The next moment she had pushed it between the pailla.s.se and mattress of Susy's bed.

"I'll come and fetch it to-night, whatever happens," she said.

CHAPTER XI.

AFTER THE FUN.

There was wild fun at Salter's Point. A cove was found with yellow sand as smooth as gla.s.s; here the picnic dinner was spread, and here the boys and girls laughed heartily and enjoyed themselves well. There seemed no hitch anywhere, and if Basil kept a little aloof from Ermengarde, and if Ermengarde was a trifle more subdued and had less of a superior air than was her wont, no one noticed these small circ.u.mstances. Marjorie laughed until she cried; Eric stood on his head and turned somersaults, and performed conjuring tricks, and was really the most witty, fascinating little fellow. Even Miss Nelson laughed at Eric, and Mr. Wilton openly regretted that the old established position of the family at Wilton Chase prevented his making his son a clown at the pantomime.

But the brightest days come to an end, and when the picnic dinner was eaten, the dishes washed and replaced in their baskets, when each child, aided by patient Marjorie, had secured a liberal supply of sh.e.l.ls, and each little chubby face had gazed with ecstasy into the pools which contained the wonderful gardens of sea-weeds and sea-anemones, it was time to pack the wagonette once more, to fill the pony-carriage, and to start for home.

Ermengarde once more seated herself in the pony-carriage. Basil was standing near.

"Come," she said to him. "Miss Nelson can go home in the wagonette, and then you and I can have these comfortable seats facing the horses.

Come! what are you standing dreaming there for?"

"I beg your pardon," said Basil starting. "No. I promised Maggie to go back in the wagonette, and here comes Miss Nelson. Oh, Miss Nelson, you do look f.a.gged out. Here's a jolly seat for you next to Ermengarde, in the pony-trap, and these three young 'uns can be packed together at the other side. Now then, babies, pop in. Look out, Lucy; don't tread on Polly's toes--off you go."

The ponies started forward at a round pace; a deep flush mounted to Ermengarde's brow. What was the matter with Basil? He was always good-natured, certainly, but at another time he would have jumped at her offer, for Miss Nelson would really have been just as happy in the wagonette. Ermengarde now remembered that Basil had been a little queer to her all day, a tiny bit distant, not quite his cordial self.

Could he suspect anything? But no, that was absolutely impossible.

Miss Nelson thought her eldest pupil rather sulky during the drive back. She sighed once or twice as she glanced at the girl's irresponsive face. Ermengarde was certainly difficult to manage.

Should she continue to take charge of her? Would it not be best to own at once that over this girl she had no influence, and to ask Mr.

Wilton to remove Ermengarde from her care?

The party reached home, and supper and fireworks, according to Marjorie's programme, were all crowded into the happy day. But at last tired eyes could keep open no longer, the small children were tucked into their nests, and the elder ones were by no means sorry to follow their example.

"Oh, I am tired out," said Marjorie to Ermengarde. "It _is_ nice to think of getting into one's bed, and going off into a long, long sleep. And hadn't we a happy day, Ermie?"

"Yes," said Ermengarde, in an abstracted voice. She was standing by the window. She had not attempted to undress.

Hudson generally helped the little girls to prepare for the night, but as she was particularly busy reducing Chaos to order downstairs, Marjorie had said they could get on quite well alone for this one evening. She now came to Ermengarde, to ask her to unfasten a knot in her dress.

"And why don't you take off your own things, Ermie?" she said.

"There's no particular hurry," said Ermengarde.

"But aren't you dreadfully tired?"

"No. I did not get up at four o'clock this morning."

"Oh, what fun we had waking father!" began Marjorie, "If you had only seen Eric; and father's face when first he opened his eyes. I do believe--why, what's the matter, Ermie, have you a headache?"

"No; how you do worry one, Maggie! Go to bed, and try to stop talking; I want to think, and to be let alone. I'll come to bed when I feel inclined."

A torrent of words came to the tip of Marjorie's tongue, but she restrained them. It was Ermie's custom sometimes to be very snappy and uncommunicative. She concluded the wisest policy was to let her sister alone, and to go to sleep herself as fast as possible.

Accordingly she knelt for a few moments by her bedside in her little white nightdress, and then tumbled into it, and with a happy sigh went into the land of dreams.

A moment or two later Ermengarde softly opened the door of the sleeping-room and went out. It was ten o'clock, and the household, tired from the day's pleasuring, were all preparing to go to bed.

Ermengarde ran along the corridor, flew downstairs the back way, and found herself in the schoolroom part of the house. She took her waterproof cloak and an old garden-hat from a peg on the wall, and let herself out by a side-door. If she ran very fast she would probably be back before George, the old butler, had drawn the bolts and put the chain on for the night. If not, she knew that it would not be difficult to open one of the schoolroom windows, which were low, and as often as not unhasped. Ermengarde had herself noticed that the bolt of one was not fastened that evening. If the worst came, she could return to her little bed that way, but she fully expected to be in time to come back by the door.

The moment she got out, she slipped on her waterproof and hat, and then, with the speed and lightness of a little fawn, flew down the narrow pathway which led first to the park, and then across it to the keeper's cottage.

The moonlight lay in silver bars over the gra.s.s, and when Ermengarde got under the trees their great shadows looked black and portentous.

At another time she might have felt some sensations of fear at finding herself at so late an hour alone in the woods, but she was too intent now on the object of her mission to have any room for nervousness. She was out of breath when she reached the cottage, but to her relief saw that its inmates were not yet in bed, for light shone from the kitchen and also from Susy's bedroom.