by L. T. Meade
she'll never forgive me. She'll believeas I done it."
"But--but--" said Pen, bringing out her words with difficulty, "didn'tyou take it?"
"Oh, no, Miss Pen. Oh, that you should think that! All my people areas honest as honest can be. I never took it, I never knew anythingabout that purse, and I never, never opened a drawer in my master'sroom, not since I came to the house. But there, I see you don't believeme."
Betty did not waste any more time with Pen. She walked on, her sobsgrew louder, and then fainter; she was perfectly distracted, she did notknow what to do with herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
NURSE COMFORTER.
When Betty had left her, Pen sat very still in the hammock where she hadperched herself. Once or twice she swung herself backwards andforwards, but most times she sat motionless. She had come to the firstreal grave problem in her young life. She had always been a careless,never-may-care, somewhat untidy, reckless little girl. She had had nospecial training. Being the youngest she had been petted now and then,and scolded now and then; fussed over occasionally, bulliedoccasionally; allowed to grow up in any sort of fashion. She had hadsome sort of teachers, but they had never had much influence over her.Nurse Richardson thought more of her than of all the other girls, forwas she not her darling, her baby? Her father, too, was fond ofpinching her rosy cheeks, and calling her his little dear, or his littlepet, just as fancy took him. Her elder sisters made her theirmessenger, and partly their slave. She did not mind; she was contented.She had a few friends, but not any very special ones. When Nesta andher sisters had come to stay at Court Prospect during their greattrouble, Pen had at first taken warmly to Nesta; but she was tired ofher now. She had never liked Flossie Griffiths, and Flossie was reallyNesta's friend.
As to the affair of the sovereign, Pen had made a bet without giving ita serious consideration. She had never for one moment supposed thatNesta considered it a serious affair. Then Pen had begun to long to begrown up like her sisters, to wear dresses which would cover hersomewhat ungainly feet, to walk about with boys, and to receivecompliments from them; never to do any tiresome French or German, or anyunpleasant practising on the school-room piano, or any grammar, or anyEnglish history, or any of those things which she called school work,and hated accordingly. She wanted these things to cease, and she hopedto have a right good time when Clay and Mabel and Annie wore getting_passee_. She considered that Clay would be quite _passee_ when she wasone and twenty, and by that time surely Pen, who would be aboutseventeen, would be in her first charming bloom.
By this it will be seen that Pen was quite an ordinary little girl, butshe was a girl with a conscience. She had inherited a sturdy sense ofhonour from her father, who was a good business man, and Pen, hadcircumstances been different, might have been a good business woman. Hehad won his present enviable position by the strongest code of honour;he had piled up his gold without injuring any man. To be honest--honestat any cost--was his motto, and he had instilled these ideas into hissons, and had talked about them in the presence of his daughters. Theelder girls had never listened, but Pen had. Her conscience now wasstirred to its depths. Nothing but fear would have kept her fromconfessing the truth. She struggled hard with herself for some time.
It was the middle of the day, however, and Nurse Richardson, after manyfruitless searches, found Pen just at the time when luncheon was to beserved. She pounced upon the little girl, and took her hand somewhatroughly.
"There now," she said, "a nice state of things you have been and goneand done. I've been the whole morning searching for you. Why, MissClara said you were that feverish and sore-throaty and head-achy asnever was. Why, what has come to you, Miss Pen? What's wrong?"
Pen sprang from the hammock, ran up to old Richardson, and embraced her.
"I'm not a bit head-achy, nor a bit sore-throaty, nor a bit of anything,but just that I didn't want to go," she said.
"And you made up all that story?"
"I'd rather stay with you, nursey," said Pen, rubbing her cheek againstthe old woman's.
Nurse was by no means a strict moralist; she was soothed by Pen'sattitude.
"Then you will come right in and have a beautiful little bit of dinner,"she said. "Roast duck and green peas, and afterwards a plum tart, andcream and peaches."
Pen was, notwithstanding her perturbation of mind, somewhat hungry.
"And you'll have it up in the old nursery with me," said Richardson.
"All right, nursey, if you'll eat your dinner with me."
"If you don't mind, my pretty."
"Mind?" said Pen. "I'd love it."
For the time she was in quite good spirits. She went into the housewith the old nurse. They visited the nursery, and the dinner inquestion was soon brought on the board, and the two ate with hearty goodappetite.
"I'm that relieved that you ain't a bit sore-throaty nor head-achy,"said the nurse.
"No. I'm as right as possible," said Pen, "as well as possible," sherepeated. "It isn't that."
"You'll go to-morrow? Miss Clara was in a state."
"I don't know--I don't know when I'll go."
Having satisfied her appetite her nervous fears began again.
"I want to go back to the garden--I want to be alone," she said.
But as she was leaving the room she turned.
"Where's Betty?" she said.
"Betty, the bad little thing! To think of her doing it," said nurse.
"Oh, nursey, do you think she did it?"
"You have heard, then, my pet?"
"Yes, I have heard."
"Of course, she done it," said the nurse. "Who else would? All of usold trusted servants, and she just fresh in the place. But I've heardbefore now that the Wren family are just about--well, to say the leastof it, not all they might be. She'll have to go back to Mrs Wren."
"What sort of a woman is Mrs Wren?" asked Penelope.
"Oh, a decent body enough; but they do say the husband was a poacher.Well, he's dead, and Betty's the eldest of the family. She wouldn'thave got in here if I hadn't spoke for her, and I'm ashamed of her, thatI am."
"Nursey, I do wish you'd tell father that you _know_ she hasn't done it,and beg and beseech of him not to send her away."
"I, tell the master that?" said nurse, holding up her hands. "Much goodit would be. He'd say back to me--`Nurse, who has done it? Until Ifind out who has done it, I shall suspect Betty Wren and Betty Wren mustgo out of the house. If she confesses I may forgive her, but if shesticks to it that she hasn't done it, out she goes, and without acharacter.' That's the master all over, and I must say he's aboutright. A thief ought to be punished awfully severe."
Pen went and stood by the window.
"I believe I have a bit of a headache," she said, after a pause. "I'lljust go down to the garden and sit there in the shade. What time isfather coming back, nurse?"
"I suppose the usual time, about six. He'll be took up to see you, andhe'll be pleased enough, I take it. You may as well stay with him nowuntil next Saturday, when I understand he is going to join the youngladies."
Pen made no reply to this. When she got into the passage she gave adeep sigh. When would Jim be back? Why had he not answered her letter?She passed his room, the door was ajar, but she did not go in thistime. Jim was faithless, he was no better than the others. Indeed, hewas worse. He had promised to help her, and then had not done so.
She went into the garden and chose a shady seat under a tree, took up abook which she could not read, and then pressed her hand to her eyes.
Perhaps she had fallen asleep; at any rate she found herself sittingbolt upright, and gazing straight before her. A great trembling tookpossession of her, and just for a moment she did not know what hadhappened. But coming down the path to meet her, was some one who lookedvery like a vision--some one slender, marvellously graceful, and all inwhite; a white dress, a white hat, everything white. The hat was tiltedback from a broad brow, and the dark hair
under it was rendered darkerby the shade of the hat, and the eyes were large and misty and verybeautiful, and the face was pale. The girl, for Pen soon discoveredthat it was only a girl, and not an angel, hurried when she saw Pen, andwent towards her with outstretched hand. Pen rose, confused andpuzzled.
"Don't you know me? I have seen you before. I am Angela St Just. MayI sit down for a little?"
"Oh, please do," said Pen. How delighted Clay would be! Howoverpowered Mabel would be! Even Annie would be confused, and a littleoff her guard; but Pen was not confused, nor off her guard in the least."Would you