CHAPTER XV.
"I DO TRUST, CICELY, YOU KEEP HER IN HER PLACE."
"Your being in town for Christmas is quite an unusual occurrence, isn'tit, Cousin Arthur?"
"Quite unusual; I may almost say, unprecedented. Dear Ellen and I, asyou know, have the greatest horror of any prolonged stay in thisBabylon, but, at the present moment, it is impossible to avoid it."
"And Cousin Ellen is bearing up pretty well?" Cicely could not keepthe twinkle out of her eyes, although her voice was perfectly grave;but Sir Arthur, being, as has been said, totally devoid of humour, onlyobserved the becoming gravity of tone, and not the twinkle.
"As well as can be expected," he responded, with a gloomy shake of thehead, "but she dislikes hotels at all times, and at Christmas shedoubly dislikes having to live a hotel life. We have our littlefestivities at home, quite small, unpretentious festivities, for theservants and the men on the estate, and we shall feel not taking partin them."
"And surely the servants will miss you?" Cicely said with her prettygracious manner, whilst, it must be confessed, she inwardly wonderedwhether the Congreves' household staff would regret or be relieved, bythe absence of their master and mistress at this festive season.
"We hope so, we hope so," Sir Arthur answered pompously; "dear Ellenand I always try to infuse a wholesome spirit into all the littlegaieties, and we feel keenly being absent this Christmas. But we mustbe in London just now. Our own beloved border is too remote." Cicelythought with a shudder of that wild Welsh border on which the Congrevemansion stood, and instinctively she drew her costly furs more closelyround her dainty person, as if the very memory of the remote regiongave her a sensation of chill.
"You are in town on business, of course," she went on, more for thesake of saying something, than because she felt the slightest grain ofinterest in the affairs of her husband's elderly cousin. "I must bringBaba to see Cousin Ellen before we go to Bramwell. Baba is theduckiest wee thing in the world--in my prejudiced opinion--and Ibelieve Cousin Ellen will like her."
Sir Arthur disliked all modern terms of endearment. He looked frigidlyat Cicely; and wondered, not for the first time, what his sensible andsober-minded cousin, John Redesdale, could possibly have seen toadmire, in this frivolous creature who was now his widow.
"I am not surprised poor John died," Sir Arthur reflected; "suchflightiness, such flippancy, must have grated on him terribly." It wasnot given to Sir Arthur to understand his fellow-men, much less hisfellow-women; and it is doubtful whether he would have believed JohnRedesdale himself, if that dear and noble man had risen from the dead,to assure his cousin of his passionate and unswerving devotion toCicely, his much-loved wife.
"Dear Ellen will be very pleased to see your little girl," Sir Arthursaid stiffly, after that swift moment of thought. "You know we alwayscall her Veronica. We disapprove of pet names, and Veronica is avalued name in our family." The vexed question of Baba's style andtitle, being one that recurred on every occasion when Cicely and SirArthur met, the little lady made a hasty change of subject, sayingbrightly:
"I will bring her one day. You know she was ill at Graystone. Shegave me a terrible fright, but she is quite well again, and I think weowe a great deal to Christina, Baba's delightful nurse--a lady, a mostdear and charming girl, who is as much of a companion for me, as forher own special charge."
"A lady? A lady nurse? I hope you are wise in this, my dear Cicely;it is rather an innovation, a departure from the good old ways. Now, Ihave a theory that a middle-aged nurse of the very respectable,old-fashioned type, is the best sort of person to be about a child."
"If only one could dig her out of anywhere," Cicely answered with herbright smile; "but she is so scarce nowadays, as to be practicallyprehistoric. I have had every variety of nurse, and they seemed to meto oscillate between minxes and humbugs, until I found Christina."
"And with this young woman you no doubt had excellent references?" saidSir Arthur, fixing a piercing glance upon his companion; "too much carecould not be exercised about the person who has charge of your littlegirl."
Cicely gave what she afterwards explained to herself as a mental gasp,but she was mistress of the situation. She looked into Sir Arthur'ssevere face, with a smile upon her own, and said smoothly--
"I do agree so entirely with you about being very careful who oneengages as a nurse for a little child. I often feel that Baba's wholefuture depends on the hands that mould her now, when her dear littlecharacter is so much clay, to be made into what shape the hands choose."
Sir Arthur, let loose on another of his favourite hobby-horses, theeducation of the young, forgot to notice that his cousin's pretty widowhad omitted to answer the question he had put to her, and canteringaway on the above horse, did not realise that he was as ignorant asbefore, about Christina's references. He was still descanting forciblyon the most absolutely perfect, and, in fact, the only way of traininga child in the way it should go, when the door of the hotelsitting-room opened, and Lady Congreve entered. She was adepressed-looking little woman, with the meek mouth and deprecatingeyes of a wife whose lord's word is law--and more than law--and herfirst glance was not for their guest, but for the masterful gentlemanstanding with legs firmly apart on the hearth-rug, giving his opinion,in the full certainty that Cicely's interested attention, signifiedcomplete acquiescence in all his views.
"Ah! my dear, there you are," he broke off to say, with a gracious waveof his hand to his wife. "Cicely and I have been talking abouteducation, and I am glad to think she sees matters quite as I see them."
The tiniest smile dimpled about Cicely's mouth. Sir Arthur'sinterpretation of her total silence during his harangue, pleased hersense of humour, but, being of a peace-loving disposition, and averseto argument, especially with such an obstinately one-sided arguer asSir Arthur, she allowed his statement to pass without contradiction,and greeted Lady Congreve with the charming cordiality, that gave herso delightful a personality.
"I am so sorry you have to be in town at this time of the year, justwhen you must want to be at home," she said sympathetically. LadyCongreve cast another fleeting glance at her husband, then looked witha sigh round the stiffly-furnished sitting-room, with its suite ofbrightly upholstered furniture, and its particularly unhomelike air.
"It is a great disappointment to us both," she answered, in her soft,deprecating voice, that to Cicely always seemed to be apologising fordaring to make itself heard at all. "I dislike this terribly noisy,wicked city as much as dear Arthur does; and we had looked forward toour usual pleasant Christmas gathering. To me, Christmas is scarcelyChristmas if it is not spent in a home--a real home."
In the flash of a second, Cicely, with her wonted kindly impulsiveness,made up her mind to do what in the bottom of her soul, she knew sheloathed doing, and what she knew would rob her own Christmas of all itsjoyousness. She looked from one to the other of the two Congreves--SirArthur still upright on the hearth-rug; his wife a small, dejected heapin an armchair--and said in her most gracious manner--
"I do wonder if you will do what I am going to ask you to do? I knowyou are here on business, but just at Christmas time itself, just forChristmas Day and Boxing Day, you can't do any business at all, so willyou come and spend at least those days with us at Bramwell? We goto-morrow; could you come three days hence--on Christmas Eve, orearlier, if you will. I quite see that your own home is too far away,but our home is so near, only an hour by train, and we mean to try andhave a home-like Christmas. Do come."
Lady Congreve's pathetic little face brightened, a gleam of pleasureshot into her wistful eyes. Somewhere in that small, crushed soul ofhers--the soul that for nearly forty years her husband had manipulatedwith ruthless hands--she had a profound longing for all the colour andglory of life, and in some nebulous and inexplicable way, Cicely hadalways seemed to her the embodiment of both.
"Oh, Arthur!" she faltered. "Could we? It would be delightful; such arelief after this great wilderness of an hotel
. Could we go, dear?"
Sir Arthur drew his brows together in a judicial way peculiar to him,and bearing no relation to the importance of the matter in hand.
"Very kind of you to think of such an arrangement, my dear Cicely," hebegan; "very kind, indeed. And it is true, as you say, that ordinarybusiness cannot be transacted at Christmas-time. But--we are not hereon quite ordinary business. I think I told you when I last saw you,that my unfortunate brother-in-law is giving us great uneasiness."
"Yes, you did mention it," Cicely answered, again racking her brain invain to remember what constituted the misfortunes of thebrother-in-law, "but I did not know----"
"Quite so, quite so," Sir Arthur interrupted, waving her words aside;"we do not discuss the subject frequently, because, as you are aware,it is one which is most repugnant to us. But, for my poor sister'ssake, I feel bound to come forward now, greatly as I dislike beingmixed up with such an affair. I belong to those who believe that thetouch of pitch defiles."
Cicely wondered more and more who and what the recalcitrantbrother-in-law could be, that the mention of him drew such strongexpressions from Sir Arthur's lips, brought so stern a look to hisface; but he did not allow her time to ask any questions, or make anycomment on his speech, resuming with scarcely a pause--
"I am using what influence I possess, to have the whole matter hushedup, as far as is compatible with right and justice. The poor manhimself is not likely to live long enough to be punished; and ifscandal can be averted from our family, which for so many generationshas been _sans reproche_, I shall feel rewarded for all my trouble."
Cicely reflected that it was quite useless to try and disentangle themeaning of Sir Arthur's mysterious and incomprehensible words; and,being by nature the least inquisitive of beings, she asked no furtherquestions.
"But if all that you have to do leaves you free for two or three daysat Christmas, please come to us," she said; "we shall be only a verysmall party. My brother Wilfred can't come, and I am afraid RupertMernside, my cousin, may not be with us this year; but my dear oldgoverness, Miss Doubleday, always comes to us for Christmas, and Baba,Christina, and I are the gay and youthful elements. I like to makeChristmas a very happy time for my girlie," she added, almostapologetically when she saw how, at her words, Sir Arthur's lips closedtightly. "You think it rather wrong to be young and gay, don't you?"she went on, a touch of defiance in her pretty voice; "but, you see, Iam--anyhow--not at all old--and I want to keep myself as young as everI can for Baba."
"I have no objection to youth, as such," Sir Arthur answered, with alofty condescension that gave Cicely an overpowering wish to gigglefeebly; "but I should have thought you, a widow, with so many cares, somany responsibilities, and above all with an immortal soul entrusted toyour care, that you would have put childish things behind you, andtaken up life with greater seriousness."
"Do you know," Cicely answered very softly, though her eyes shone,"John, my dear husband, told me he hoped I should always keep my youngheart, and I hope I shall. I want to be young--as he liked me tobe--when I meet him again. And I want to keep Baba always with herchild soul, too," she went on, a sudden dreaminess in her glance."John used to say that the Kingdom of Heaven was for the child-like,and the children. But I mustn't waste your time and Cousin Ellen's inargument," she exclaimed, with a brisk change of tone; "only promise tocome to Bramwell for Christmas, and we will try to make you happy. AndI am sure you will like my dear little Christina."
"You are not allowing her to presume on her being a lady, I do trust,Cicely?" Sir Arthur said gravely. "You keep her in her place? If shehas undertaken to be a children's nurse, she should learn to occupy theposition usually occupied by children's nurses, and only that."
Cicely lifted lovely pleading eyes to his censorious blue ones.
"I am afraid you will think me all sorts of dreadful things, but Icould not keep Christina exclusively in the nursery. When you see her,you will understand what I mean. She and Baba are a good deal with me,and at Bramwell they will probably be with me still more." There was agentle dignity about her manner, which made even the outrageousautocrat before her, understand that he had touched the limit ofinterference. Cicely might appear to be sweet and yielding; and,indeed, she was almost invariably more inclined to yield her own will,than to struggle to attain it, but there was no lack of character inher small person, and when she had once determined that a course ofaction was expedient or right, nothing had power to turn her from thatcourse.
"Your cousin Ellen and I will enjoy spending Christmas with you verymuch," Sir Arthur said, beating his retreat with dignity. "I have nodoubt I can manage to be out of London for three days, and I shouldlike to see Bramwell again. John and I had many talks about thealterations and improvements he carried out there."
Cicely had a vivid recollection of her husband's whimsical descriptionof Sir Arthur's well-meant, but annoying, suggestions about those samealterations, and she was conscious again of a giggle choked on its wayto birth, but she contrived to make a suitable reply, adding hastily--
"And when you were in town in November, you told me you had somebusiness with Scotland Yard about a pendant. I do hope the police havefound the jewel for you."
"Alas! no. It is altogether a most singular thing about that pendant.I told you it was a family heirloom, a magnificent emerald with threeletters A.V.C. twisted together above it."
"Yes?"
"The police had a very strange clue the other day, a clue that, so far,has come to nothing. A pawnbroker in a back street in Chelsea, cameforward, and stated that a pendant, answering in every particular tothe stolen one, had been offered to him for sale, a few weeks ago."
"Then why didn't he send for the police, and give the person offeringit for sale into custody?" Cicely asked.
"Because the police had not then notified the pawnbrokers of London ofthe loss. In fact, as far as I can make out, the attempted sale musthave taken place at almost identically the same time when I came toLondon to make enquiries about the pendant. The pawnbroker himself, itseems, did not see the pendant. Two of his assistants were in chargeof the shop, when a young woman came in, and asked them what they wouldgive her for it. They seem to have suspected her from the first, forshe was obviously very poor, and not at all the sort of person likelyto be possessed of such a magnificent ornament. They made her anoffer, and apparently she took flight, and left the shop in a violenthurry. She evidently saw and understood their suspicions of her, butunfortunately they lost sight of her in the fog, and all trace of heris completely gone."
"I think I remember you suspected a young woman of the theft? Does thedescription of the young person who went to the pawnbroker, answer tothe woman who was alone in the railway carriage with Cousin Ellen'sdressing-bag?"
"The pawnbroker's assistants can only give a confused account of ashabbily-dressed girl, who seemed badly in need of money. Theirdescriptions are far from explicit. According to our maid, the youngwoman in the railway carriage, was neatly dressed and very respectablein appearance, but the two people might very easily be identical."
"Very easily," Cicely answered; "but it is unfortunate that thepawnbroker's assistants let the girl go. By now, I suppose, thependant may be broken up, and the stones untraceable."
"Only too likely," Sir Arthur answered; "and yet I cannot help stillhoping to recover the thing intact. I cannot bear to think that ajewel my mother so greatly valued, one which indeed has become anheirloom, should be irretrievably lost."
"Not irretrievably, I hope," Cicely answered, as she rose to go."Perhaps, when you come to us at Bramwell, you will be able to bring usgood news of the missing jewel, and--" she added with some hesitation,"and about your brother-in-law, too." Again she wished that she couldin the least recollect what the scandal had been. Possibly, she mightnever even have heard it, for John, her chivalrous and tender husband,had kept from her ears everything that could vex or soil them, and ifshe had ever heard the story, it had long since been
buried inoblivion. At her words, Sir Arthur's face clouded.
"All! there will never be any good news about that wretched man. Thebest news about him, the only news I can honestly say I wish to hear,would be that he was safely in his grave. My sister, poor silly woman,is infatuated about him still, I believe. She was always a fool wherehe was concerned, always a fool." Sir Arthur's tones were irascible;"you never saw her, of course?"
"I never saw either of your sisters," Cicely answered gently; "they--Ithink they had been married and had gone right away, long before I knewany of you. You see it is only six years since I married John."
"Only six years. And it is more than twenty years since both mysisters left the old home. Both left it under a cloud; both insistedon marrying men of whom my father and mother did not approve. Ah! itwas a sad business altogether, a sad business. They both belonged tothe order of women who go on caring for a man, whatever follies or sinshe may commit. I confess I cannot understand the attitude of mind ofsuch women."
"No, I daresay not," Cicely answered, her eyes thoughtfully fixed onhis severe face. "I expect you feel that love and respect must alwaysgo hand in hand, and that when a man has once lost a woman's respect,he ought to lose her love as well."
"Certainly, I think so. When respect goes, everything had better go.I have no patience with the sentimental clinging to a man who hasforfeited all right to affection."
"I suppose"--Cicely paused, into her eyes there came a queer littlegleam, which neither of her companions could understand. "I supposewhen a woman takes a man for better or worse, the worse may mean evildoing, and perhaps it is possible for her to hate the sin, and yet tolove--the sinner?"
Sir Arthur looked a trifle taken aback, but he disliked being worstedin an argument, and he would not ever own that he could be worsted by awoman. Hence, he begged the question.
"Well, well," he said airily; "there is often a great deal ofsentimental nonsense talked about love, and I can answer for it, mydear Cicely, that my poor sisters paid very dearly for theirsentimentality. One vanished completely from our ken; went down intothe depths of poverty and obscurity, and we could never hear of heragain. The other, I have seen and remonstrated with times withoutnumber, but all in vain; and now--she has got that miserable husband ofhers in hiding somewhere, and I am bent on finding them both, andpreventing worse scandals--if I can."
"I hope you will do as you wish." Cicely was shaking hands now withlittle Lady Congreve, who had taken no part in the conversation, beyondgiving occasional utterance to a faint ejaculation, or a timid laugh."I hope we shall all have a very happy Christmas together at Bramwell.I will let you know, about trains. Till then, _au revoir_."
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