Part I Chapter 17 Polly: A New-Fashioned Girl by L. T. Meade
WHERE ARE THE CHILDREN?
Nurse’s news astonished the Doctor very much. He was not a man, however, to show all he felt. He saw that Nurse was on the verge of hysterics, and he knew that if he did not take this startling and unpleasant piece of information in the most matter-of-fact way, he would get nothing out of her.
“I hope matters are not as bad as you fear,” he said. “Sit down in this chair, and tell me what has occurred. Don’t hurry yourself; a few moments more or less don’t signify. Tell your tale quietly, in your own way.”
Thus administered, Nurse gasped once or twice, looked up at the Doctor with eyes which plainly declared “there never was your equal for blessedness and goodness under the sun,” and commenced her story in the long-winded manner of her class.
The Doctor heard a garbled account of the supper in the attic, of the arrival of Mrs. Cameron, of the prompt measures which that good lady took to crush Polly, of Firefly’s grief, of the state of confusion into which the old house was thrown. She then went on to tell him further that Polly, having refused to submit or repent in any way, Mrs. Cameron had insisted on her remaining in her own room, and had at last, notwithstanding all Helen’s entreaties, forbidden her to go near her sister. The housekeeping keys were taken away from Polly, and Mrs. Cameron had further taken upon herself to dismiss Maggie. She had sent a telegram to Mrs. Power, who had returned in triumph to Sleepy Hollow on Saturday night.
“Miserable is no word for what this household has been,” said Nurse. “There was Miss Polly—naughty she may have been, dear lamb, but vicious she ain’t—there was Miss Polly shut up in her room, and nobody allowed to go near her; and Mrs. Cameron poking her nose into this corner and into that, and ordering me about what I was to do with the babe; and poor Miss Helen following her about, for all the world like a ghost herself, so still and quiet and pitiful looking, but like a dear angel in her efforts to keep the peace; and there was Alice giving warning, and fit to fly out of the house with rage, and Mrs. Power coming back, and lording it over us all, more than is proper for a cook to do. Oh, sir, we has been unhappy! and for the first time we really knew what we had lost in our blessed mistress, and for the first time the children, poor darlings, found out what it was to be really motherless. The meals she’d give ’em, and the way she’d order them—oh, dear! oh, dear! it makes me shiver to think of it!”
“Yes, Nurse,” interrupted the Doctor. “It was unfortunate Mrs. Cameron arriving when I was absent. I have come back now, however, and all the troubles you have just mentioned are, of course, at an end. Still you have not explained the extraordinary statement you made to me when I came into the room. Why is it that the children have run away?”
“I’m a-coming to that, sir; that’s, so to speak, the crisis—and all brought about by Mrs. Cameron. I said that Miss Polly was kept in her room, and after the first day no one allowed to go near her. Mrs. Cameron herself would take her up her meals, and take the tray away again, and very little the poor dear would eat, for I often saw what come out. It would go to your heart, sir, that it would, for a healthier appetite than Miss Polly’s there ain’t in the family. Well, sir, Miss Helen had a letter from you this morning, saying as how you’d be back by six o’clock, and after dinner she went up to Miss Polly’s door, and I heard her, for I was walking with baby up and down the passage. It was beautiful to hear the loving way Miss Helen spoke, Doctor; she was kneeling down and singing her words through the keyhole. ‘Father’ll be home to-night, Polly,’ she said—‘keep up heart, Poll dear—father’ll be home to-night, and he’ll make everything happy again.’ Nothing could have been more tender than Miss Helen’s voice, it would have moved anybody. But there was never a sound nor an answer from inside the room, and just then Miss Firefly and Master Bunny came rushing up the stairs as if they were half mad. ‘O Nell, come, come quick!’ they said, ‘there’s the step-ladder outside Poll’s window, and a bit of rope and two towels fastened together hanging to the sill, and the window is wide open!’ Miss Helen ran downstairs with a face like a sheet, and by and by Alice came up and told me the rest. Master Bunny got up on the stepladder, and by means of the rope and the bedroom towels managed to climb on to the window sill, and then he saw there wasn’t ever a Miss Polly at all in the room. Oh, poor dear! he might have broke his own neck searching for her, but—well, there’s a Providence over children, and no mistake. Miss Polly had run away, that was plain. When Miss Helen heard it, and knew that it was true, she turned to Alice with her face like a bit of chalk, and tears in her eyes, and, ‘Alice,’ she said, ‘I’m going to look for Polly. You can tell Nurse I’ll be back when I have found Polly.’ With that she walked down the path as fast as she could, and every one of the others followed her. Alice watched them getting over the little turnstile, and down by the broad meadow, then she came up and let me know. I blamed her for not coming sooner, but—what’s the matter, Doctor?”
“I am going to find Polly and the others,” said Dr. Maybright. “It’s a pity no older person in the house followed them; but so many can scarcely come to harm. It is Polly I am anxious about—they cannot have discovered her, or they would be home before now.”
The Doctor left the nursery, ran down-stairs, put on his hat, and went out. As he did so, he heard the dubious, questioning kind of cough which Mrs. Cameron was so fond of making—this cough was accompanied by Scorpion’s angry snarling little bark. The Doctor prayed inwardly for patience as he hurried down the avenue in search of his family. He was absolutely at a loss where to seek them.
“The broad meadow only leads to the high-road,” he said to himself, “and the high-road has many twists and turns. Surely the children cannot have ventured on the moor; surely Polly cannot have been mad enough to try to hide herself there.”
It was a starlight night, and the Doctor walked quickly.
“I don’t know where they are. I must simply let instinct guide me,” he said to himself; and after walking for three quarters of an hour instinct did direct him to where, seated on a little patch of green turf at one side of the king’s highway, were three solitary and disreputable-looking little figures.
“Father!” came convulsively from three little parched throats; there was a volume in the cry, a tone of rapture, of longing, of pain, which was almost indescribable. “Father’s come back again, it’s all right now,” sobbed Firefly, and immediately the boys and the little girl had cuddled up to him and were kissing him, each boy taking possession of a hand, and Firefly clasping her arms round his neck.
“I know all about it, children,” explained the Doctor. “But tell me quickly, where are the others? where is Polly?”
“Oh, you darling father!” said Firefly, “you darling, you darling! let me kiss you once again. There, now I’m happy!”
“But tell me where the others are, dear child.”
“Just a little way off. We did get so tired, and Helen said that Polly must have gone on the moor, and she said she must and would follow her.”
“We were so tired,” said Bunny.
“And there was a great nail running into my heel,” explained Bob.
“So we sat down here, and tried to pretend we were gipsies,” continued Firefly. “The moon was shining, and that was a little wee bit of comfort, but we didn’t like it much. Father, it isn’t much fun being a gipsy, is it?”
“No, dear; but go on. How long is it since you parted from the others?”
“Half an hour; but it’s all right. Bunny, you can tell that part.”
Bunny puffed himself out, and tried to speak in his most important manner.
“Nell gave me the dog-whistle,” he said, “and I was to whistle it if it was real necessary, not by no means else. I didn’t fancy that I was a gipsy. I thought perhaps I was the driver of a fly, and that when I blew my whistle Nell would be like another driver coming to me. That’s what I thought,” concluded Bunny. But as his metaphors were always extremely mixed and confusing, no one listened to him.
“You have a whistle?” said the Doctor. “Give it to me. This is a very dangerous thing that you have done, children. Now, let me see how far I can make the sound go. Oh, that thing! I can make a better whistle than that with my hand.”
He did so, making the moor, on the borders of which they stood, resound with a long, shrill, powerful blast. Presently faint sounds came back in answer, and in about a quarter of an hour Helen and her three sisters, very tired and faint, and loitering in their steps, came slowly into view.
Oh, yes; they were all so glad to see father, but they had not seen Polly; no, not a trace nor sound could be discovered to lead to Polly’s whereabouts.
“But she must not spend the night alone on the moor,” said the Doctor. “No, that cannot be. Children, you must all go home directly. On your way past the lodge, Helen, desire Simpkins and George to come with lanterns to this place. They are to wait for me here, and when they whistle I will answer them. After they have waited here for half an hour, and I do not whistle back, they are to begin to search the moor on their own account. Now go home as fast as you can, my dears. I will return when I have found Polly, not before.”
The moon was very brilliant that night, and Helen’s wistful face, as she looked full at her father, caused him to bend suddenly and kiss her. “You are my brave child, Nell. Be the bravest of all by taking the others home now. Home, children; and to bed at once, remember. No visiting of the drawing-room for any of you to-night.”
The Doctor smiled, and kissed his hand, and a very disconsolate little party turned in the direction of Sleepy Hollow.