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Daddy's Girl, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
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Chapter 12 |
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_ CHAPTER XII The next day was a glorious one, and Lady Helen, Mr. Rochester, Mrs. Ogilvie, and Sibyl all met at Victoria Station in time to catch the 11.20 train to Richmond, the nearest station to Silverbel. There a carriage was to meet them, to take them to the house. They were to lunch at a small inn close by, and afterwards have a row on the river; altogether a very delightful day was planned. It was now the heart of a glorious summer--such a summer as does not often visit England. The sky was cloudless; the sun shone, but the great heat was tempered by a soft, delicious breeze. Sibyl, all in white, with a white shady hat making her little face even more lovely than usual, stood by her mother's side, close to a first-class carriage, to await the arrival of the other two. Lady Helen and Rochester were seen walking slowly down the platform. Sibyl gave one of her gleeful shouts, and ran to meet them. "Here you both is!" she said, and she looked full up at Lady Helen, with such a charming glance of mingled affection and understanding, that Lady Helen blushed, in spite of herself. Lady Helen Douglas was a very nice-looking girl, not exactly pretty, but her gray eyes were capable of many shades of emotion. They were large, and full of intelligence. Her complexion was almost colorless. She had a slim, graceful figure. Her jet-black hair, which she wore softly coiled round her head, was also thick and beautiful. Sibyl used to like to touch that hair, and loved very much to nestle up close to the graceful figure, and take shy peeps into the depths of the eyes which seemed to hold secrets. "You do look nice," said Sibyl, speaking in a semi-whisper, but in a tone of great ecstasy, "and so does Mr. Rochester. Do you know, I always call him nice Mr. Rochester. Watson is so interested in him." "Who is Watson?" asked Lady Helen. "Don't you know, he is our footman. He is very nice, too; he is full of impulses, and they are all good. I expect the reason he is so awfully interested in dear Mr. Rochester is because they are both having love affairs. You know, Watson has a girl, too, he is awfully fond of; I 'spect they'll marry when father comes back with all the gold. You don't know how fond I am of Watson; he's a very great, special friend of mine. Now here's the carriage. Let's all get in. Aren't you both glad you're coming, and coming together, both of you together, to visit Silverbel. It's a 'licious place; there are all kinds of little private walks and shrubberies, and seats for two under trees. Two that want to be alone can be alone at Silverbel. Now let's all get into the carriage." Poor Rochester and Lady Helen at that moment thought Sibyl almost an enfant terrible. However, there was no help for it. She would have her say, and her words were bright and her interest of the keenest. It mattered nothing at all to her that passers-by turned to look and smiled in an amused way. Mrs. Ogilvie was in an excellent humor. All the way down she talked to Lady Helen of the bazaar which she had already arranged was to take place at Silverbel during the last week in August. "I had meant to put it off until my husband returned," she remarked finally, "but on reflection that seemed a pity, for he is scarcely likely to be back before the end of October, and by then it would be too late; and, besides, the poor dear Home for Incurables needs its funds, and why should it languish when we are all anxious, more than anxious, to be charitable? Mr. Acland, my lawyer, is going to pay a deposit on the price of the estate, so I can enter into possession almost immediately. I am going to get Morris & Liberty to furnish the place, and I shall send down servants next week. But about the bazaar. I mean it to be perfect in every way. The stalls are to be held by unmarried titled ladies. Your services, Lady Helen, must be secured immediately." "Oh, yes," cried Sibyl, "you are to have a most beautiful stall, a flower stall: what do you say?" "If I have a stall I will certainly choose a flower stall," replied Lady Helen, and she smiled at Sibyl, and patted her hand. They soon arrived at Richmond, and got into the carriage which was waiting for them, and drove to Silverbel. They had lunch at the inn as arranged, and then they wandered about the grounds, and presently Sibyl had her wish, for Rochester and Lady Helen strolled away from her mother and herself, and walked down a shady path to the right of the house. "There they go!" cried the child. "There who go, Sibyl?" asked Mrs. Ogilvie. "The one who wants to marry the other," replied Sibyl. "Hush, mother, we are not to know, we are to be quite blind. Aren't you awfully incited?" "You are a very silly, rude little girl," replied the mother. "You must not make the sort of remarks you are always making to Mr. Rochester and Lady Helen. Such remarks are in very bad form. Now, don't take even the slightest notice when they return." "Aren't I to speak to them?" asked Sibyl, raising her eyes in wonder. "Of course, but you are not to say anything special." "Oh, nothing special. Am I to talk about the weather?" "No; don't be such a little goose." "I always notice," replied Sibyl, softly, "that when quite strangers meet, they talk about the weather. I thought that was why. Can't I say anything more--more as if they were my very dear old friends? I thought they'd like it. I thought they'd like to know that there was one here who understanded all about it." "About it?" "Their love, mother, their love for--for each other." "Who may the one be who is supposed to understand?" "Me, mother," said Sibyl. Mrs. Ogilvie burst into a ringing laugh. "You are a most ridiculous little girl," she said. "Now, listen; you are not to take any notice when they come back. They are not engaged; perhaps they never will be. Anyhow, you will make yourself an intensely disagreeable child if you make such remarks as you have already made. Do you understand?" "You has put it plain, mother," replied Sibyl. "I think I do. Now, let's look at the flowers." "I have ordered the landlord of the inn to serve tea on the lawn," continued Mrs. Ogilvie. "Is it not nice to feel that we are going to have tea on our own lawn, Sibyl?" "It's lovely!" replied Sibyl. "I am devoted to the country," continued the mother; "there is no place like the country for me." "So I think, too," replied Sibyl. "I love the country. We'll have all the very poorest people down here, won't we, mother?" "What do you mean?" "All the people who want to be made happy; Mr. and Mrs. Holman, and the other faded old people in the almshouses that I went to see one time with Miss Winstead." "Now you are talking in your silly way again," replied Mrs. Ogilvie. "You make me quite cross when you talk of that old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Holman." "But, mother, why aren't they to be rich if we are to be rich? Do you know that Mrs. Holman is saving up her money to buy some of the gold out of father's mine. She expects to get two hundred pounds instead of one. It's very puzzling, and yet I seem to understand. Oh, here comes Mr. Landlord with the tea-things. How inciting!" The table was spread, and cake, bread and butter, and fruit provided. Lady Helen and Rochester came back. They both looked a little conscious and a little afraid of Sibyl, but as she turned her back on them the moment they appeared, and pretended to be intensely busy picking a bouquet of flowers, they took their courage in their hands and came forward and joined in the general conversation. Lady Helen elected to pour out tea, and was extremely cheerful, although she could not help reddening when Sibyl brought her a very large marguerite daisy, and asked her to pull off the petals and see whether the rhyme came right. "What rhyme?" asked Lady Helen. "I know it all, shall I say it to you?" cried Sibyl. She began to pull off the different petals, and to repeat in a childish sing-song voice:-- "One he loves, two he loves, three he loves they say, Four he loves with all his heart, five he casts away, Six he loves, seven she loves, eight they both love, Nine he comes, ten he tarries, Eleven he woos, twelve he marries." Sibyl repeated this nonsense with extreme gusto, and when the final petal on the large daisy proclaimed that "twelve he marries," she flung the stalk at Rochester and laughed gaily. "I knew you'd have luck," she said. Then she caught her mother's warning eye and colored painfully, thus making the situation, if possible, a little more awkward. "Suppose we go for a row on the river this lovely afternoon," said Lady Helen, starting up restlessly. She had talked of the coming bazaar, and had wandered through the rooms at Silverbel, and had listened to Mrs. Ogilvie's suggestions with regard to furniture and different arrangements until she was almost tired of the subject. Rochester sprang to his feet. "I can easily get a boat," he said; "I'll go and consult with mine host." He sauntered across the grounds, and Sibyl, after a moment's hesitation, followed him. A boat was soon procured, and they all found themselves on the shining silver Thames. "Is that why our house is called Silverbel?" asked Sibyl. "Is it 'cos we can see the silver shine of the river, and 'cos it is belle, French for beautiful?" "Perhaps so," answered the mother with a smile. The evening came on, the heat of the day was over, the sun faded. "What a pity we must go back to London," said Sibyl. "I don't think I ever had such a lovely day before." "We shall soon be back here," replied Mrs. Ogilvie. "I shall see about furnishing next week at the latest, and we can come down whenever we are tired of town." "That will be lovely," said Sibyl. "Oh, won't my pony love cantering over the roads here!" When they landed at the little quay just outside the inn, the landlord came down to meet them. He held a telegram in his hand. "This came for you, madam, in your absence," he said, and he gave the telegram to Mrs. Ogilvie. She tore it open. It was from her lawyer, Mr. Acland, and ran as follows: "Ominous rumors with regard to Lombard Deeps have reached me. Better not go any further at present with the purchase of Silverbel." Mrs. Ogilvie's face turned pale. She looked up and met the fixed stare of her little daughter and of Rochester. Lady Helen had turned away. She was leaning over the rails of the little garden and looking down into the swiftly flowing river. Mrs. Ogilvie's face grew hard. She crushed up the telegram in her hand. "I hope there is nothing wrong?" asked Rochester. "Nothing at all," she replied. "Yes, we will come here next week. Sibyl, don't stare in that rude way." The return journey was not as lively as that happy one in the morning. Sibyl felt through her sensitive little frame that her mother was worried about something. Rochester also looked anxious. Lady Helen alone seemed unconscious and distrait. When the child nestled up to her she put her arm round her waist. "Are you sad about anything, darling Lady Helen?" whispered Sibyl. "No, Sibyl; I am quite happy." "Then you are thinking very hard?" "I often think." "I do so want you to be awfully happy." "I know you do, and I think I shall be." "Then that is right. Twelve he marries. Wasn't it sweet of the marguerite daisy to give Mr. Rochester just the right petal at the end; wasn't it luck?" "Yes; but hush, don't talk so loud." Mr. Rochester now changed his seat, and came opposite to where Lady Helen and the child had placed themselves. He did not talk to Lady Helen, but he looked at her several times. Presently he took one of Sibyl's hands, and stroked it fondly. "Does Lady Helen tell you beautiful stories too?" asked Sibyl, suddenly. "No," he answered; "she is quite naughty about that. She never tells me the charming stories she tells you." "You ought to," said Sibyl, looking at her earnestly; "it would do him good. It's an awfully nice way, if you want to give a person a home truth, to put it into a story. Nurse told me about that, and I remembered it ever since. She used to put her home truths into proverbs when I was quite young, such as, 'A burnt child dreads the fire,' or 'Marry in haste, repent at leisure,' or----" "Oh, that will do, Sibyl." Lady Helen spoke; there was almost a piteous appeal in the words. "Well," said Sibyl, "perhaps it is better to put home truths into stories, not proverbs. It's like having more sugar. The 'home truth' is the pill, and when it is sugared all over you can swallow it. You can't swallow it without the sugar, can you? Nursie begins her stories like this: 'Miss Sibyl, once upon a time I knew a little girl,' and then she tells me all about a horrid girl, and I know the horrid girl is me. I am incited, of course, but very, very soon I get down to the pill. Now, I am sure, Mr. Rochester, there are some things you ought to be told, there are some things you do wrong, aren't there, Mr. Rochester?" "Oh, Sibyl, do stop that ceaseless chatter," cried her mother from the other end of the carriage; "you talk the most utter nonsense," and Sibyl for once was effectually silenced. The party broke up at Victoria Station, and Mrs. Ogilvie and her little daughter drove home. As soon as ever they arrived there Watson informed Mrs. Ogilvie that Mr. Acland was waiting to see her in the library. "Tiresome man!" she muttered, but she went to see him at once. The electric light was on; the room reminded her uncomfortably of her husband. He spent a great deal of time in his library, more than a very happy married man would have done. She had often found him there with a perplexed brow, and a heart full of anxiety. She had found him there, too, in his rare moments of exultation and happiness. She would have preferred to see the lawyer in any room but this. "Well," she said, "why did you send me that ridiculous telegram?" "You would not be surprised if you had read the article which appeared to-day in The Financial Enquirer." "I have never heard of The Financial Enquirer." "But City men know it," replied Mr. Acland, "and to a great extent it governs the market. It is one of our leading financial papers. The rumors it alludes to may be untrue, but they will influence the subscriptions made by the public to the share capital. In fact, with so ominous an article coming from so first-rate a source, nothing but a splendid report from Ogilvie can save the mine." Mrs. Ogilvie drummed with her delicate taper fingers on the nearest table. "How you puzzle a poor woman with your business terms," she said. "What do I know about mines? When my husband left me he said that he would come back a rich man. He gave me his promise, he must keep his word." "He will naturally keep his word if he can, and if the mine is all that Lord Grayleigh anticipates everything will be right," replied Acland. "There is no man more respected than Ogilvie in the City. His report as assayer will save the situation; that is, if it is first-rate. But if it is a medium report the capital will not be sufficiently subscribed to, and if the report happens to be bad the whole thing will fall through. We shall know soon now." "This is very disturbing," said Mrs. Ogilvie. "I have had a long, tiring day, and you give me a headache. When is my husband's report likely to reach England?" "Not for several weeks, of course. It ought to be here in about two months' time, but we may have a cablegram almost any day. The public are just in a waiting attitude, they want to invest their money. If the mine turns out a good thing shares will be subscribed to any extent. Everything depends on Ogilvie's report." "Won't you stay and have some supper?" said Mrs. Ogilvie, carelessly. "I have said already that I do not understand these things." "I cannot stay, I came to see you because it is important. I want to know if you really wish to go on with the purchase of Silverbel. I am ready to pay a deposit for you of L2,000 on the price of the estate, which will, of course, clinch the purchase, and this deposit I have arranged to pay to-morrow, but under the circumstances would it not be best to delay? If your husband cannot give a good report of the mine he will not want to buy an expensive place like Silverbel. My advice to you, Mrs. Ogilvie, is to let Silverbel go. I happen to know at this moment of another purchaser who is only waiting to close if you decline. When your husband comes back rich you can easily buy another place." "No other place will suit me except Silverbel," she answered. "I strongly recommend you not to buy it now." "And I intend to have it. I am going down there to live next week. Of course, you arranged that I could go in at once after the deposit was paid?" "Yes, on sufferance, subject to your completing the purchase in October." "Then pray don't let the matter be disturbed again. I shall order furniture immediately. You are quite a raven, a croaker of bad news, Mr. Acland." Mr. Acland raised his hand in deprecation. "I thought it only fair to tell you," he answered, and the next moment he left the house. As he did so, he uttered a solitary remark: "What a fool that woman is! I pity Ogilvie." _ |
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