CHAPTER XI.
KIND FRIENDS.
It was Miss Fenmore. I knew her again at once. And she called me "mypoor little girl"--the very words she had used when she said good-bye tome and looked so sorry before she went away for the Easter holidays,never to come back, though she did not then know it, to Green Bank.
"You remember me, dear?" she said, in the sweet tones I had loved tohear. "Don't speak if you feel too ill or if it tires you. But don'tfeel frightened or unhappy, though you are in a strangeplace--everything will be right."
I felt soothed almost at once, but my curiosity grew greater.
"When did you come?" I said. "You weren't here when I woke before. Itwas--somebody with a cap--first I thought it was one of the lions."
The sound of my own voice surprised me, it was so feeble and husky, andthough my throat did not hurt me much I felt that it was thick andswollen.
Miss Fenmore thought I was still only half awake or light-headed, butshe was too sensible to show that she thought so.
"One of the lions?" she said, smiling. "You mean the carved lions thatMyra is so fond of. No--that was a very funny fancy of yours--a lionwith a cap on! It was old Hannah that you saw, the old nurse. She hasbeen watching beside you all night. When you awoke before, I was out. Iwent out very early."
She spoke in a very matter-of-fact way, but rather slowly, as if shewanted to be sure of my understanding what she said. And as my mindcleared and I followed her words I grew more and more anxious to knowall there was to hear.
"I don't understand," I said, "and it hurts me to speak. Is this yourhouse, Miss Fenmore, and how do you know about the lions? And whobrought me in here, and why didn't I know when I was put in this bed?"
Miss Fenmore looked at me rather anxiously when I said it hurt me tospeak. But she seemed pleased, too, at my asking the questions sodistinctly.
"Don't speak, dear," she said quietly, "and I will explain it all. Thedoctor said you were not to speak if it hurt you."
"The doctor," I repeated. Another puzzle!
"Yes," said Miss Fenmore, "the doctor who lives in this street--Dr.Fallis. He knows you quite well, and you know him, don't you? Just nodyour head a little, instead of speaking."
But the doctor's name brought back too many thoughts for me to becontent with only nodding my head.
"Dr. Fallis," I said. "Oh, I would so like to see him. He could tellme----" but I stopped. "Mrs. Selwood's address" I was going to say, asall the memories of the day before began to rush over me. "Why didn't Iknow when he came?"
"You were asleep, dear, but he is coming again," said Miss Fenmorequietly. "He was afraid you had got a sore throat by the way youbreathed. You must have caught cold in the evening down in the show-roomby the lions, before they found you."
And then she went on to explain it all to me. I was in Mr. Cranston'shouse!--up above the big show-rooms, where he and old Mrs. Cranstonlived. They had found me fast asleep, leaning against one of thelions--the old porter and the boy who went round late in the evening tosee that all was right for the night, though when the rooms were shut upearlier no one had noticed me. I was so fast asleep, so utterlyexhausted, that I had not awakened when the old man carried me up to thekitchen, just as the servants were about going to bed, to ask what inthe world was to be done with me; nor even later, when, on MissFenmore's recognising me, they had undressed and settled me for thenight in the comfortable old-fashioned "best bedroom," had I opened myeyes or spoken.
Old Hannah watched beside me all night, and quite early in the morningDr. Fallis, who fortunately was the Cranstons' doctor too, had been sentfor.
"He said we were to let you have your sleep out," said Miss Fenmore,"though by your breathing he was afraid you had caught cold. How is yourthroat now, dear?"
"It doesn't hurt very much," I said, "only it feels very shut up."
"I expect you will have to stay in bed all to-day," she replied. "Dr.Fallis will be coming soon and then we shall know."
"But--but," I began; then as the thought of it all came over me stillmore distinctly I hid my face in the pillow and burst into tears. "MustI go back to school?" I said. "Oh, Miss Fenmore, they will be soangry--I came away without leave, because--because I couldn't bear it,and they said I told what wasn't true--that was almost the worst of all.Fancy if they wrote and told mamma that I told lies."
"She would not believe it," said Miss Fenmore quietly; "and besides, Idon't think Miss Ledbury would do such a thing, and she always writes tothe parents herself, I know. And she is kind and good, Geraldine."
"P'raps she means to be," I said among my tears, "but it's Miss Aspinalland--and--Miss Broom. I think I hate her, Miss Fenmore. Oh, I shouldn'tsay that--I never used to hate anybody. I'm getting all wrong andnaughty, I know," and I burst into fresh sobs.
Poor Miss Fenmore looked much distressed. No doubt she had been told tokeep me quiet and not let me excite myself.
"Geraldine, dear," she said, "do try to be calm. If you could tell meall about it quietly, the speaking would do you less harm than cryingso. Try, dear. You need not speak loud."
I swallowed down my tears and began the story of my troubles. Oncestarted I could not have helped telling her all, even if it had hurt mythroat much more than it did. And she knew a good deal already. She wasa girl of great natural quickness and full of sympathy. She seemed tounderstand what I had been going through far better than I could put itin words, and when at last, tired out, I left off speaking, she said allshe could to comfort me. There was no need for me to trouble about goingback to Green Bank just now. Dr. Fallis had said I must stay where I wasfor the present, and when I saw him I might tell him anything I liked.
"He will understand," she said, "and he will explain to Miss Ledbury. Ihave seen Miss Ledbury this morning already, and----"
"Was she dreadfully angry?" I interrupted.
"No, dear," Miss Fenmore replied. "She had been terribly frightenedabout you, and Miss Aspinall and some of the servants had been rushingabout everywhere. But Miss Ledbury is very good, as I keep telling you,Geraldine. She is very sorry to hear how unhappy you have been, and ifshe had known how anxious you were about your father and mother shewould have tried to comfort you. I wish you had told her."
"I wanted to tell her, but Miss Broom was there, and they thought I toldstories," I repeated.
"Well, never mind about that now. You shall ask Dr. Fallis, and I amsure he will tell you you need not be so unhappy."
It was not till long afterwards that I knew how very distressed poor oldMiss Ledbury had been, and how she had blamed herself for not havingtried harder to gain my confidence. Nor did I fully understand at thetime how very sensibly Miss Fenmore had behaved when Mr. and Mrs.Cranston sent her off to Green Bank to tell of my having, withoutintending it, taken refuge with them; she had explained things so thatMiss Ledbury, and indeed Miss Aspinall, felt far more sorry for me thanangry with me.
Just as Miss Fenmore mentioned his name there came a tap at the door,and in another moment I saw the kind well-known face of our old doctorlooking in.
"Well, well," he began, looking at me with a rather odd smile, "and howis the little runaway? My dear child, why did you not come to me,instead of wandering all about Great Mexington streets in the dark andthe rain? Not that you could have found anywhere better for yourselfthan this kind house, but you might have been all night downstairs inthe cold! Tell me, what made you run away like that--no, don't tell mejust yet. It is all right now, but I think you have talked enough. Hasshe had anything to eat?" and he turned to Miss Fenmore. Then he lookedat my throat and listened to my breathing, and tapped me and felt mypulse and looked at my tongue before I could speak at all.
"She must stay in bed all to-day," he said at last. "I will see heragain this evening," and he went on to give Miss Fenmore a fewdirections about me, I fidgeting all the time to ask him about fatherand mamma, though feeling too shy to do so.
"Geraldine is very anxious to tell you one of the chief causes of hercoming
away from Green Bank as she did," said Miss Fenmore. And then shespoke of the gossip that had reached me through Harriet Smith about theterribly unhealthy climate my parents were in.
Dr. Fallis listened attentively.
"I wanted to write to Mrs. Selwood, and I thought Mr. Cranston wouldtell me her address," I said, though I almost started when I heard howhoarse and husky my voice sounded. "Can you tell it me? I do so want towrite to her."
"Mrs. Selwood is abroad, my dear, and not returning till next month,"said Dr. Fallis; but when he saw how my face fell, he added quickly,"but I think I can tell you perhaps better than she about your parents.I know the place--Mr. Le Marchant consulted me about it before hedecided on going, as he knew I had been there myself in my young days.Unhealthy? No, not if people take proper care. Your father and motherlive in the best part--on high ground out of the town--there is neverany fever there. And I had a most cheerful letter from your father quitelately. Put all these fears out of your head, my poor child. Please Godyou will have papa and mamma safe home again before long. But they mustnot find such a poor little white shrimp of a daughter when they come.You must get strong and well and do all that this kind young lady tellsyou to do. Good-bye--good-bye," and he hurried off.
I was crying again by this time, but quietly now, and my tears were notaltogether because I was weak and ill. They were in great measure tearsof relief--I was so thankful to hear what he said about father andmamma.
"Miss Fenmore," I whispered, "I wonder why they didn't take me withthem, if it's a nice place. And then there wouldn't have been all thesedreadful things."
"It is quite a different matter to take a child to a hot climate," shesaid. "Grown-up people can stand much that would be very bad for girlsand boys. When I was little my father was in India, and my sister and Ihad to be brought up by an aunt in England."
"Did you mind?" I said eagerly. "And did your papa soon come home? Andwhere was your mamma?"
Miss Fenmore smiled, but there was something a little sad in her smile.
"I was very happy with my aunt," she said; "she was like a mother to me.For my mother died when I was a little baby. Yes, my father has beenhome several times, but he is in India again now, and he won't be ableto come back for good till he is quite old. So you have much happierthings to look forward to, you see, Geraldine."
That was true. I felt very sorry for Miss Fenmore as I lay thinkingover what she had been telling me. Then another idea struck me.
"Is Mrs. Cranston your aunt?" I said. "Is that why you are living here?"
Miss Fenmore looked up quickly.
"No," she replied; "I thought somehow that you understood. I am herebecause I am Myra Raby's governess--Myra Raby, who used to come for somelessons to Green Bank."
"Oh!" I exclaimed. This explained several things. "Oh yes," I went on,"I remember her, and I know she's Mr. Cranston's grand-daughter--he wasspeaking of her to mamma one day. I should like to see her, MissFenmore. May I?"
Miss Fenmore was just going to reply when again there came a tap at thedoor, and in answer to her "Come in" it opened and two figures appeared.
I could see them from where I lay, and I shall never forget the prettypicture they made. Myra I knew by sight, and as I think I have saidbefore, she was an unusually lovely child. And with her was a quite oldlady, a small old lady--Myra was nearly as tall as she--with a face thateven I (though children seldom notice beauty in elderly people) saw wasquite charming. This was Mrs. Cranston.
I felt quite surprised. Mr. Cranston was a rather stout old man, withspectacles and a big nose. I had not thought him at all "pretty," andsomehow I had fancied Mrs. Cranston must be something like him, and Igave a sigh of pleasure as the old lady came up to the side of the bedwith a gentle smile on her face.
"Dr. Fallis gave us leave to come in to see you, my dear," she said."Myra has been longing to do so all the morning."
"I've been wanting to see her too," I said, half shyly."And--please--it's very kind of you to let me stay here in this niceroom. I didn't mean to fall asleep downstairs. I only wanted to speak toMr. Cranston."
"I'm sure Mr. Cranston would be very pleased to tell you anything he canthat you want to know, my dear. But I think you mustn't trouble just nowabout anything except getting quite well," said the old lady. "Myra hasbeen wanting to come to see you all the morning, but we were afraid oftiring you."
MYRA CAME FORWARD GENTLY, HER SWEET FACE LOOKING RATHERGRAVE.]
Myra came forward gently, her sweet face looking rather grave. I put outmy hand, and she smiled.
"May she stay with me a little?" I asked Mrs. Cranston.
"Of course she may--that's what she came for," said the grandmotherheartily. "But I don't think you should talk much. Missie's voice soundsas if it hurt her to speak," she went on, turning to Miss Fenmore.
"It doesn't hurt me much," I said. "I daresay I shall be quite wellto-morrow. I am so glad I'm here--I wouldn't have liked to be ill atschool," and I gave a little shudder. "I'm quite happy now that Dr.Fallis says it's not true about father and mamma getting ill at thatplace, and I don't want to ask Mr. Cranston anything now, thank you. Itwas about Mrs. Selwood, but I don't mind now."
I had been sitting up a little--now I laid my head down on the pillowsagain with a little sigh, half of weariness, half of relief.
Mrs. Cranston looked at me rather anxiously.
"Are you very tired, my dear?" she said. "Perhaps it would be better forMyra not to stay just now."
"Oh, please let her stay," I said; "I like to see her."
So Myra sat down beside my bed and took hold of my hand, and though wedid not speak to each other, I liked the feeling of her being there.
Mrs. Cranston left the room then, and Miss Fenmore followed her. Ithink the old lady had made her a little sign to do so, though I did notsee it. Afterwards I found out that Mrs. Cranston had thought me lookingvery ill, worse than she had expected, and she wanted to hear from MissFenmore if it was natural to me to look so pale.
I myself, though feeling tired and disinclined to talk, was reallyhappier than I had been for a very long time. There was a delightfulsensation of being safe and at home, even though the kind people who hadtaken me in, like a poor little stray bird, were strangers. The verylook of the old-fashioned room and the comfortable great big four-postbed made me hug myself when I thought how different it all was from thebare cold room at Green Bank, where there had never once been a fire allthe weeks I was there. It reminded me of something--what was it? Oh yes,in a minute or two I remembered. It was the room I had once slept inwith mamma at grandmamma's house in London, several years before, when Iwas quite a little girl. For dear grandmamma had died soon after we cameto live at Great Mexington. But there was the same comfortableold-fashioned feeling: red curtains to the window and the bed, and a bigfire and the shiny dark mahogany furniture. Oh yes, how well Iremembered it, and how enormous the bed seemed, and how mamma tucked mein at night and left the door a little open in case I should feel lonelybefore she came to bed. It all came back to me so that I forgot where Iwas for the moment, till I felt a little tug given to the hand that Myrawas still holding, and heard her voice say very softly,
"Are you going to sleep, Geraldine?"
This brought me back to the present.
"Oh no," I said, "I'm not sleepy. I was only thinking," and I told herwhat had come into my mind.
She listened with great interest.
"How unhappy you must have been when your mamma went away," she said. "Ican't remember my own mamma, but mother"--she meant her stepmother--"isso kind, and granny is so sweet. I've never been lonely."
"You can't fancy what it's like," I said. "It wasn't only mamma's goingaway; I know Haddie--that's my brother--loves her as much as I do, buthe's not very unhappy, because he likes his school. Oh, Myra, what_shall_ I do when I have to go back to school? I'd rather be ill always.Do you think I'll have to go back to-morrow?"
Myra looked most sympathising and concerned.
"I
don't think you'll be quite well to-morrow," was the best comfort shecould give me. "When I have bad colds and sore throats they always lastlonger than one day."
"I'd like to talk a great lot to keep my throat from getting quitewell," I said, "but I suppose that would be very naughty."
"Yes," said Myra with conviction, "I'm sure it would be. You reallymustn't talk, Geraldine; granny said so. Mayn't I read aloud to you?I've brought a book with me--it's an old story-book of mamma's that shehad when she was a little girl. Granny keeps them here all together.This one is called _Ornaments Discovered_."
"Thank you," I said. "Yes, I should like it very much."
And in her gentle little voice Myra read the quaint old story aloud tome. It was old-fashioned even then, for the book had belonged to hermother, if not in the first place to her grandmother. How very old-worldit would seem to the children of to-day--I wonder if any of you know it?For I am growing quite an old woman myself, and the little history of mychildhood that I am telling you will, before long, be half a century inage, though its events seem as clear and distinct to me as if they hadonly happened quite recently! I came across the little red gilt-leavedbook not long ago in the house of one of Myra's daughters, and with thesight of it a whole flood of memories rushed over me.
It was not a very exciting story, but I found it very interesting, andnow and then my little friend stopped to talk about it, which I foundvery interesting too. I was quite sorry when Miss Fenmore, who had comeback to the room and was sitting quietly sewing, told Myra that shethought she had read enough, and that it must be near dinner-time.
"I will come again after dinner," said Myra, and then I whisperedsomething to her. She nodded; she quite understood me. What I said wasthis:
"I wish you would go downstairs and tell the carved lions that they mademe very happy last night, and I _am_ so glad they brought me back hereto you, instead of taking me to Green Bank."
"Where did they take you to in the night?" said Myra with greatinterest, though not at all as if she thought I was talking nonsense.
"I'll tell you all about it afterwards," I said. "It was beautiful. Butit would take a long time to tell, and I'm rather tired."
"You are looking tired, dear," said Miss Fenmore, who heard my lastwords, as she gave me a cupful of beef-tea. "Try to go to sleep for alittle, and then Myra can come to sit with you again."
I did go to sleep, but Myra was not allowed to see me again that day,nor the next--nor for several days after, except for a very few minutesat a time. For I did not improve as the kind people about me had hoped Iwould, and Dr. Fallis looked graver when he came that evening than hehad done in the morning. Miss Fenmore was afraid she had let me talk toomuch, but after all I do not think anything would have made any greatdifference. I had really been falling out of health for months past, andI should probably have got ill in some other way if I had not caughtcold in my wanderings. I do not very clearly remember those days ofserious illness. I knew whenever I was awake that I was being tenderlycared for, and in the half-dozing, half-dreaming state in which manyhours must have been passed, I fancied more than once that mamma wasbeside me, which made me very happy. And though never actuallydelirious, I had very strange though not unpleasant dreams, especiallyabout the carved lions; none of them, however, so clear and real as theone I related at full in the last chapter.
On the whole, that illness left more peaceful and sweet memories thanmemories of pain. Through it all I had the delightful feeling of beingcared for and protected, and somehow it all seemed to have to do withthe pair of lions downstairs in Mr. Cranston's show-room!
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