Christina

by L. G. Moberly

  CHAPTER XVI.

  "MY MOTHER GAVE IT TO ME."

  "Baba would like her doctor man to come to her Christmas-tree; Babadoes love her doctor man." At the sound of the pleading voice, thesight of the appealing blue eyes, Cicely put down her pen with a laugh,and caught the child in her arms.

  "You most absurd and beguiling infant, why do you want your doctor man,as you call him?"

  "'Cos Baba does. She loves him awful, drefful much," and to give hermother some glimmering idea of the depth of her affection, Baba claspedher hands round her own small person, and looked into Cicely's face,with another appealing glance.

  "Christina, do you imagine Dr. Fergusson could be induced to come overhere for Christmas?" Cicely questioned, as Baba's nurse came into thecosy boudoir at Bramwell Castle; "this picanniny of mine wants himinvited to her Christmas-tree."

  "I should think it would depend on how busy he is just now. Thepractice seemed to be a big one. But perhaps at this time people willbe considerate enough not to fall ill, and will give the doctor alittle rest. Surely, Dr. Fergusson could motor over? It can't be veryfar from here to Graystone."

  "Quite within a motor drive; and he was so very good to Baba, I shouldlike to ask him to come if he will. Rupert writes, that, as he feared,he cannot be with us. He has had to start off post haste to Naples.That tiresome boy, Jack Layton, a mutual cousin of Rupert's and mine,has gone and got typhoid there, and of course Rupert, being a sort ofunattached, universal fairy godfather, has been sent for to look afterhim."

  "Is Mr. Mernside a fairy godfather?" Christina smiled at the quaintnomenclature.

  "I always think so. He is ready to do any thing for any of hisaggravating relations, at any moment, and as Jack has selected thisparticular moment to get typhoid, Rupert will be away for Christmas. Iwonder whether Dr. Fergusson would think it very odd andunconventional, if I invited him here, on our rather shortacquaintance?"

  Cicely looked thoughtfully across her pretty room at Christina, and thegirl laughed, and shook her head.

  "He is not so silly," she answered. "Dr. Fergusson is just one ofthose simple, straightforward men who take things as they are meant,and don't hunt round for ulterior motives. He won't even begin tothink whether your invitation is conventional or unconventional, hewill only think how good it is of you to ask him at all."

  "How wise you are," Lady Cicely exclaimed; "where does that little darkhead of yours get all its wisdom?"

  Christina laughed again. In those days of her happy life with Baba andBaba's mother, her bright young laugh rang out very often--the laughthat seemed such a true index to her young, bright soul. She had putbehind her all the misery and hardship of the past, and, with thewholesome philosophy natural to her, lived in the full enjoyment of herpresent content; and the few weeks of happiness, good food, and freedomfrom anxiety, had changed the white-faced, hollow-eyed girl who hadperforce tried to pawn her mother's jewel, into a charming, and verypretty semblance of her former self.

  "I am not wise," she said; "only I have had a good many rough times,and I have learnt to do what one of my landladies called, 'sizing upmen and women.' I have had to size people up, and try to get a justestimate of them."

  "And you have 'sized up' Dr. Fergusson?"

  "I have found out that he is the very soul of simplicity andstraightforwardness, and that he is so kind that there is nothing hewould not do for his fellow creatures," she answered eagerly; "and asfor worrying about the conventional, I am sure it never enters his headto do such a thing."

  It flashed across Cicely's mind to wonder whether Christina's praise ofthe doctor rose from any warmer feeling than that of friendlygratitude, but the girl's eyes met hers so frankly, her manner was sosimple, and the very outspokenness of her enthusiasm, seemed to pointto such a heart-whole condition, that the brief thought was dismissed.

  "I wish I could accept your most tempting invitation," Fergusson wrote,in reply to Cicely's letter; "but, alas! Christmas does not promisemuch diminution of the work here. If, however, you will allow me tocome to you for Miss Baba's tree, on the afternoon of thetwenty-fourth, I could manage to do that in my car. It will give megreat pleasure to see my small patient again."

  As she folded up the letter, Cicely felt that it would also give herpleasure to see the kindly-faced doctor, whose personality duringBaba's illness, had impressed her as being so helpful, who, in some dimand unexplained way, made her think of the husband, for whose loss herheart had never ceased to ache.

  "I am afraid I am very glad Cousin Arthur and Cousin Ellen cannotarrive before eight o'clock dinner on Christmas Eve," she said toChristina, after receiving Fergusson's letter; "they mean so well, poordears, but they are such sadly wet blankets. Cousin Arthur wouldcertainly send our spirits down to zero, by telling us that the more weenjoyed ourselves the more wrath to come was being stored up for us!You know he says he never sees any beautiful scenery withoutremembering that it will all be burnt some day!"

  "How delicious! I am afraid I am looking forward to seeing Sir Arthur;he is at least original."

  "He won't approve of you, or Baba, or of anything any of us do," Cicelyanswered; "his attitude of mind is disapproving. He has got the kindof mind that always gets out of bed on the wrong side."

  Perhaps, at the back of her own mind, her little ladyship was not sorrythat Sir Arthur and Fergusson should have no opportunity of meeting;for, as her natural astuteness told her, if Sir Arthur looked withdisapproving eyes upon Rupert, with how much more disapproval would heregard a stranger, who was also a doctor. Sir Arthur belonged to theold school of county magnates, who looked upon men of medicine as on alevel very little higher than a butcher or baker, and entirely refusedto entertain the notion that doctor and gentleman could ever besynonymous terms. And Cicely was well aware that the old gentleman'sdisapproval might conceivably find voice, and that she would bereproached for receiving such guests in "poor dear John's" house.

  Fortunately for everyone's peace of mind, the Congreves, being unableto leave London until late on Christmas Eve, were also unable to playthe part of kill-joys at Baba's Christmas-tree, and the little partywhich assembled in the big hall of the Castle, was composed ofcongenial and friendly folk, who were ready to become little childrenagain, to play with a little child.

  The hall, oak-panelled, and hung with suits of armour, and weaponshanded down from war-like Redesdale ancestors, had long since beenconverted into a luxurious lounge, where, if comfortably upholsteredchairs, big palms, masses of flowers, and tables strewn with the latestbooks, were incongruities, the incongruity at least made the hall amost pleasant and sociable sitting-room. And so Fergusson thought it,when from the sharpness of the grey winter day, he passed through anouter vestibule, into the well-warmed, well-lighted place. Only hehimself knew with what an unaccountable sinking of the heart he haddriven up the beech avenue leading to the Castle, and realised what animposing place it was, to which he had been bidden. Involuntarily, andin sharp contrast, the thought of his own modest house rose before hismental vision, and the usually cheery doctor, for perhaps the firsttime in his disciplined and philosophical existence, felt disposed tocurse the Fates, for dividing rich and poor by gulfs of such appallingdimensions. But that sinking of the heart, and all the other unwontedsentiments stirred in him by the sight of the great pile of Bramwell,its stately park and lordly surroundings, were swept away by thecordial greeting bestowed upon him, by the little lady of the house,and by Baba's enthusiastic welcome.

  "Baba's doctor man," the child cried, with a small shriek of delightwhen he appeared, and Baba monopolised her doctor man during the wholetwo hours he was able to spend with them. But if to the larger numberof the party assembled in the hall, Fergusson seemed to have neithereyes nor ears for anyone but the child-queen of the occasion,Christina's observant eyes told her that his glance often rested uponCicely's fair head, and that whenever it did so, a great tendernesscrept into that glance. As she had told Lady Cicely, the rough schoolin w
hich her life had lately been spent, had taught her to study andunderstand her fellow beings, and the doctor's secret, unknown tohimself, was shared by Christina, on that happy Christmas Eve. She wasa very safe and discreet guardian of secrets, this girl with the sweeteyes, but she gave a quick little sigh when she understood the meaningof Fergusson's glance, for to her, as to himself, there seemed anunbridgeable gulf, between the hard-working doctor, and the dainty_chatelaine_ of Bramwell Castle. Before he left, Fergusson contrivedto make his way to Christina's side, and to say in an undertone:--

  "I think you will be sorry to know that your beautiful lady of thelonely valley is in great trouble."

  "Oh!" Christina exclaimed softly, her eyes darkening; "has the end comefor him?"

  "Yes, five days ago. She is wonderful, but the heart-break in her eyesis pitiful to see. I sometimes doubt whether her strength will holdout; she is very fragile, and all the strain has told on her more thanI like."

  "Was he buried at----" Christina was beginning, when Fergusson finishedthe sentence quickly.

  "No, not at Graystone. I don't know where she took him, but it wasaway from that part of the country altogether. She and her faithfulElizabeth went with him, and now she is back in that lonely houseagain. I have tried to persuade her to leave it--to go to London--togo anywhere away--but she answers me she is happier there, and I cannotoppose her. But it is all a tragedy, an inexplicable tragedy."

  He could say no more, but what he had told Christina, filled the girl'sheart with sadness; her beautiful lady had made a profound impressionupon her, and the thought of the sorrowful woman in that lonely housein the valley, hurt the girl's tender soul.

  "I am glad we asked Dr. Fergusson," Cicely said to her, when later onin the evening the two were alone together in Baba's day nursery;"there is something so cheering about him, something," she added, witha wistful look into Christina's face, "that makes me think of myhusband."

  "Is he like Mr. Redesdale?" Christina asked sympathetically.

  "No, not in the least--it is not that. At least, his eyes are brown,and my husband had brown eyes, but it is not exactly a likeness thatcan be defined feature for feature. It is something subtlyindefinable, but when I see Dr. Fergusson, and when he talks to me, itmakes me think of John. It makes me almost feel as if John were hereagain."

  * * * * *

  "You are to come down to dinner to-night, and you are to wear the newfrock," Lady Cicely's tones were very decided, her blue eyes shone, herface was dimpling with smiles.

  "Oh! but--indeed--I don't think I ought; how can I? It--it wouldn't besuitable, would it, for Baba's nurse to dine downstairs?"

  "Will you let Baba's mother decide what is best for the nurse to do?"Cicely answered, laughing, and patting Christina on the shoulder; "youare just to do what I tell you, and I tell you you must come down todinner to-night, and wear the new frock."

  "I don't know how to thank you for that," Christina said, with girlisheagerness. "I haven't ever had a frock like it in all my life. Yousee, when my father and mother were alive, we never went to parties, soI didn't have evening gowns. And since I have been working for myself,of course I haven't needed any, but this one you have given me is much,much too lovely."

  "Perhaps I am the best judge of that, too! I want you to look suitablydressed when you come downstairs, and you must look your very bestto-night, to disarm Cousin Arthur."

  "I am afraid already he doesn't approve of me," Christina saidruefully; "he looked at me with such severe eyes after church thismorning, and began at once to ask me about my theories of education.And--I haven't got any." A ripple of laughter broke from her. "I hadto say so, and he seemed so shocked."

  "But he is very easily shocked; take heart of grace and remember that.And dear old Miss Doubleday thinks you are managing Baba splendidly.She is a competent judge because she had the managing of me!"

  "Then I don't think there was anything wrong with her system ofeducation," Christina said quickly, with a glance of shy admiration ather employer, who had sunk into the nursery rocking-chair, and wasswinging her daintily-shod feet up and down before the fire; "if Babagrows up like her mother, she need not wish for anything better. Ilike kind old Miss Doubleday, she is so friendly to me."

  Miss Doubleday, Cicely's old governess, was spending Christmas atBramwell, and had shown appreciation of Christina and her ways.

  "You nice little enthusiast!" Cicely looked affectionately up at thegirl, who stood on the hearth beside her; "you idealise everybody,don't you, Christina?"

  "I don't know about idealising," Christina spoke thoughtfully, "but,when I care about people, I do see all the best in them----"

  "And are blind to all the worst? Yes, I understand," Cicely laughed,"if you liked Cousin Arthur, you would even see him throughrose-coloured spectacles?"

  "He is a very good man," Christina answered sturdily; "there issomething about that uncompromising puritan spirit that appeals to me.His views may be narrow----"

  "They certainly are," Cicely murmured _sotto voce_, "but they are allon the side of loftiness and right."

  "I wish I could make out why there is something familiar to me abouthis face and manner. I am sure I have never seen him before, and yet Iseem to have associations of some sort with him. He looks so sad andworried, too; and that very look on his face is vaguely familiar."Christina spoke thoughtfully, her brows drawn together.

  "There has been some trouble about a brother-in-law," Cicely answered."I know I ought to have the story at my fingers' ends, but I can'tremember one single detail of it, and I don't like to tell CousinArthur so. Nor do I like to ask any questions. He and Cousin Ellenboth look so much gloomier and more upset than they were in town. Ihave been wondering whether any fresh developments have occurred.However, it isn't any real business of mine, and we will try to givethe poor dears a happy time here. I must go and dress, and you are todo as I told you; put on your new frock, and come down to thedrawing-room. Janet is quite able to manage Baba for one evening."

  Christina's fingers shook with eagerness, as she drew from its tissuewrappings Lady Cicely's Christmas present to her--the simple, yetcharming gown, which to her girlish eyes seemed the acme of all thatwas most lovely. Poor little girl, she had never seen herself in adress cut low at the neck before, and though this gown was only cut inthe most modest of squares, her own reflection in the glass told herthat the rounded lines of her throat and neck were enhanced by thedelicate lace that trimmed the soft silk of the gown, and that thedress itself, in its severely simple lines, suited admirably theslimness of her graceful young form. Her eyes shone like stars, therewas a colour in her cheeks, and she had piled her dusky hair into aloose and becoming knot, on the top of her small, well-shaped head.

  "I do really believe I look very nearly pretty," she said naively,nodding to herself in the mirror.

  "I wish----" but she did not put her wish into words, only, as thecolour deepened on her face, and she turned away from the sight of herown confusion, she found herself thinking that it was a pity Mr. JackLayton had chosen this inopportune moment to fall ill with typhoid, andthat Mr. Mernside had not been able to make one of the house party thisevening. At sight of Christina, Baba, who was being prepared for bedby Janet, danced about the nursery in her pink dressing-gown, clappingher hands and chanting in a shrill monotone--

  "Oh! Baba's pretty lady, Baba's pretty lady, oh!" until her nursecaught the small, soft creature in her arms, cuddling her closely andcovering her laughing, rosy face with kisses.

  "But you _is_ Baba's pretty lady to-night," the child said solemnly,stroking Christina's neck and face with her dimpled hands. "I like youin a white frock, and when the pink colour runs up your cheeks. Putsomething round your neck," she went on imperiously. "Mummy's got lotsof sparkle things to put round her neck, and you must have somethingsparkle on your pretty white neck."

  "Something sparkle on your pretty white neck." Why should she not,just for this once, w
ear the only piece of jewellery she possessed? Asit was Christmas Day, and everything was more than usually festive,surely she might put on the lovely pendant her mother had given her?Christina stood still in the middle of the nursery, cogitating upon themomentous question, whilst Baba danced round her, holding the pinkdressing-gown well above her pink slippered feet, and shaking hergolden curls whilst she chanted again--

  "Oh! Baba's pretty lady; Baba's pretty lady, oh!"

  "Even though I am a nurse, I am a lady, too," Christina reflected; "andLady Cicely has given me this beautiful frock, so that I may look mybest downstairs, and, my pendant would be right with the white gown. Ithink it wouldn't be wrong to wear it."

  Her thought was quickly translated into action. Going back to thenight nursery, she extracted from the bottom of her modest trunk, thebox in which she kept her treasure, and drawing out the pendant on itsslender chain, held it up to catch the rays of light from the hanginglamp over the chest of drawers. The great emerald shone brightly likesome vividly green star, Christina thought, and the brilliants withwhich it was set, sparkled and scintillated in the light.

  "It does look nice," the girl whispered complacently, as she claspedthe chain, and saw the exquisite jewel resting against the whiteness ofher neck, "and I wonder what those twisted letters A.V.C. mean?Mother's first name was Mary, her second name was Helen, and notanything beginning with A or V, and of course I don't know what was hersurname. I wonder why the initials are A.V.C."

  But her speculations were of short duration, and soon forgotten in theexcitement of going downstairs to join the rest of the party in thehall, after receiving Baba's bear-like good-night hug, and partingwords of admiration.

  "I am going to have such a very happy evening," Christina said toherself, as she went along the corridor, and stood for a moment at thetop of the wide staircase, looking down into the hall below. "I didn'tthink I was ever in my life going to have such a happy time, as LadyCicely lets me have, and to-night will be lovely, just lovely. And howbeautiful the hall looks." Her face was bright with eagerness, hereyes shining with excitement, as she ran down the stairs, quite unawareof what a charming picture she made against the background of dark oak,in her simple white gown, with her crown of dusky hair, and the shininghappiness of her eyes. She was right in designating the hall asbeautiful. Lighted by myriads of candles, the old walls reflected thebright armour, and the leaping flames of the huge fire that burnt onthe hearth; the carpets and rugs were all of rich soft hues, thatharmonised with the black oak and the shining armour, and pots ofbright azaleas, of roses, and of tall lilies, filled the place withcolour and fragrance. Christina drew a long breath of delight, and themomentary shyness that had swept over her, when the little group by thefireplace turned to watch her descend the stairs, was dissipated whenLady Cicely put out a hand, and said kindly:

  "Come close to the blaze, dear, and enjoy it. Is that monkey of minesafely in bed?"

  "She is on her way there, but I left her dancing round the nursery,singing improvised songs about my clothes, and----"

  Her sentence was cut short by a sharp exclamation from Sir Arthur, who,as she came near the fire at Cicely's invitation, cast a keenlyenquiring glance at her, taking in each detail of her person, from thecrown of her hair to the tip of the shoe just showing beneath her whitegown. And when that inquisitorial glance fell upon the jewel restingon her neck, that sharp exclamation broke from him.

  "How did you come by that pendant?" he questioned, the words jerked outwith an abruptness totally lacking in courtesy. "Did it not strike youas rather rash to flaunt it here, in my very face?"

  "'How did you come by that pendant?' he questioned.]

  "To--flaunt--it here?" Christina said shakily, her hand goinginstinctively to her treasure. "I--don't understand."

  "Come, come, my dear young lady," Sir Arthur answered curtly, wavingCicely aside, when she made an attempt to intervene. "You cannot--youreally cannot, pretend to misunderstand my very simple question. Iasked you--where did you get that pendant?"

  Christina's eyes, wide with fright, and bewildered with the shock ofbeing questioned so brusquely and severely, looked from Sir Arthur toLady Cicely, as though appealing for help, and Cicely said quietly--

  "Cousin Arthur--what does all this mean?"

  "It means," he said grimly, "that your child's nurse--her _lady_nurse--is wearing the pendant for which the police and I have beensearching in vain. It means----"

  "No, oh, no!" Cicely broke in. "I can't believe what you are implying.It couldn't be true. Christina tell Sir Arthur he is making a mistake.Tell him where your pendant comes from."

  "From my mother," the girl faltered, still too taken aback by theunexpected onslaught, to be able to think clearly. "This pendantbelonged to her; she gave it to me, and I----"

  "Tut, tut!" Sir Arthur interrupted irritably; "it is futile to try andthrow dust in our eyes in this way. That pendant isunmistakable--quite unmistakable--no one who had once seen it, could beunder any delusion about it. It is unique--an heirloom in our family.The very letters above the emerald, are initials of an ancestress ofmine."

  Christina stood there silently whilst the above words were hurled ather, but her face grew paler and paler, fear deepened in her eyes.

  "My mother--gave it to me," she said again, when as Sir Arthur ended,there was an expectant pause, as though some explanation was demandedfrom her; "she gave it to me when she died--it was hers."

  "Then you can, of course, tell us for what names the letters stand?"Sir Arthur said slowly, a tinge of contempt in his voice; and becauseof that note of contempt, Cicely moved nearer to the shrinking girl,whose frightened, bewildered expression moved the little lady's heartto pity for her, and indignation against the angry old man.

  "Cousin Arthur," she said impulsively, "it is not fair to judgeChristina, before she has explained about the pendant. Everybody inthis land is innocent until he is proved guilty--that is surely onlythe bare law," and Cicely laughed a little nervously, looking round forsupport to Miss Doubleday, her kindly old governess, who, also moved bypity for the accused girl, had drawn nearer to Christina.

  "I wish to do nothing unfair," was Sir Arthur's chilly rejoinder; "if,as Miss Moore tells us, that pendant belonged to her mother, she willbe able to tell us, too, what the initials signify."

  "I--don't--know," Christina faltered. "I--have often wondered--I----"

  "Perhaps one of them is the initial of your mother's maiden name?" MissDoubleday said gently, anxious to do everything in her power to helpthe now trembling girl.

  "I--don't know my mother's maiden name----" Christina was beginning,when a short laugh broke from Sir Arthur.

  "You do not know your mother's maiden name?" he said slowly; "come,come, surely you cannot expect us to believe that."

  "I don't know whether you will believe it or not," Christina answered,with a sudden flash of defiance, "it is true. And I don't know whatthe initials are, but--my mother gave me the pendant. I am telling youthe simple truth. I cannot say more."

  "Perhaps you will tell us you never tried to--sell--or pawn that pieceof jewellery, at a pawnbroker's shop in Chelsea a few weeks ago?" SirArthur asked next, his glance taking in the look of consternation thatflashed over her face, the new, shrinking terror in her eyes. "Ah! youcannot deny that fact?"

  "No, oh! no," Christina put out her hands as if to ward off an actualblow. "I did try to pawn it. I was so dreadfully poor, but--the manfrightened me. I came away from the shop, then----"

  "Exactly; they frightened you, because they showed you plainly thatthey suspected you of having come by the pendant dishonestly. You ranaway from the shop."

  The dreadful truth of every word spoken, the dreadful difficulty--nay,so it seemed to Christina, the impossibility of refuting the accusationlevelled against her, made her feel helpless, tongue-tied, like somecreature caught in a trap, from which there was no way of escape. Shehad no means, none at all, of proving her own story. Her mother,
whohad given her the jewel, was dead. She had never shown it to anyone;she had never had occasion to show it to anybody; as far as she knew,there was not a living soul in the world, who could come forward todeclare that the pendant was hers. Even Mrs. Donaldson, her lateemployer, could not have vouched for her truth and honesty in thisrespect, for Mrs. Donaldson had not known that she possessed thebeautiful thing; she had only been her mother's acquaintance, not evenan intimate friend.

  "But surely," the practical Miss Doubleday here intervened, "surely, ifMiss Moore were guilty of stealing the pendant, she would not wear ithere, under your very eyes, Sir Arthur. It is not likely----"

  "I understood Miss Moore to say she was ignorant of the meaning of theinitials above the pendant," the old gentleman answered coldly;"presumably, therefore, she is not aware that C stands for Congreve.There is no reason to suppose that she knew from whose bag she wastaking the pendant, when she took it."

  "But I did not take it," Christina cried; "indeed, indeed, I did not.It is my own, my very own; all I have told you is true." Sir Arthurignored her words, turning gravely to his cousin.

  "My dear Cicely, I am very sorry to be unintentionally the cause of somuch unpleasantness for you, but I am afraid that, in the interests ofjustice, I shall be obliged to make this the subject of policeinvestigation."