Chapter 17 Daddy's Girl by L. T. Meade
Lord Grayleigh was so anxious about the Syndicate that he would not go to Scotland for the shooting as usual. Later on he would attend to his pleasures, but not now. Later on when Ogilvie had returned, and the company was finally floated, and the shares taken up, he would relax his efforts, but just at present he was engaged over the biggest thing of his life. He was cheerful, however, and full of hope. He even thanked Providence for having aided all his exertions. So blinded was he by the glare of avarice and the desire for adding wealth to wealth that Ogilvie’s cablegram set every anxiety at rest. He even believed that the mine was as full of gold as the cablegram seemed to indicate. Yes, everything was going well. The Lombard Deeps Company would be floated in a short time, the Board of Directors was complete.
Ogilvie’s cablegram was shown to a few of the longest-headed men in the financial world, and his report was anxiously looked for. Rumors carefully worded got by degrees into the public press, the ominous whispers were absolutely silenced: all, in short, was ripe for action. Nothing definite, however, could be done until the full report of the mine arrived.
Lord Grayleigh was fond of saying to himself: “From the tone of Ogilvie’s cablegram the mine must be all that we desire, the ore rich, the veins good, the extent of the wealth unlimited. It will be nice,” Lord Grayleigh reflected, “to be rich and also honest at the same time.” He was a man with many kindly impulses, but he had never been much troubled by the voice of conscience. So he went backward and forward to his lovely home in the country, and played with his children, and enjoyed life generally.
On a certain day in the first week of September he received a letter from Mrs. Ogilvie; it ran as follows: —
“My Dear Lord Grayleigh,
“You have not, I hope, forgotten your promise to be, as Sibyl said, one of the big-wigs at my bazaar.”
“But I had forgotten it,” muttered Grayleigh to himself. “That woman is, in my opinion, a poor, vain, frivolous creature. Why did she hamper Ogilvie with that place in his absence? Now, forsooth, she must play at charity. When that sort of woman does that sort of thing she is contemptible.”
He lowered his eyes again, and went on reading the letter.
“I was obliged to postpone the original date,” continued his correspondent, “but I have quite fixed now that the bazaar shall be held at our new lovely place on the 24th. You, I know, will not disappoint me. You will be sure to be present. I hope to clear a large sum for the Home for Incurables at Watleigh. Have you heard how badly that poor dear charity needs funds just now? If you hesitate for a moment to come and help, just cast a thought on the poor sufferers there, the children, who will never know the blessing of strength again. Think what it is to lighten the burden of their last days, and do not hesitate to lend your hand to so worthy a work. I have advertised you in the papers as our principal supporter and patron, and the sooner we see you at Silverbel the better.
“With kind regards, I remain,
“Yours sincerely,
“Mildred Ogilvie.
“P.S. – By the way, have you heard that our dear little Sibyl has met with rather a nasty accident? She fell off that pony you gave her. I must be frank, Lord Grayleigh, and say that I never did approve of the child’s riding, particularly in her father’s absence. She had a very bad tumble, and hurt her back, and has since been confined to her couch. I have had the best advice, and the doctors have been very silly and gloomy in their reports. Now, for my part, I have not the slightest faith in doctors, they are just as often proved wrong as right. The child is getting much better, but she is still, of course, confined to her bed. She would send you her love if she knew I was writing.”
Lord Grayleigh let this letter drop on to the table beside him. He sat quite still for a moment, then he lit a cigarette and began to pace the room. After a pause he took up Mrs. Ogilvie’s letter and re-read the postscript.
After having read it a second time he rang his bell sharply. A servant appeared.
“I am going to town by the next train; have the trap round,” was Grayleigh’s direction.
He did go to town by the next train, his children seeing him off.
“Where are you going, father?” called out Freda. “You promised you would take us for a long, long drive this afternoon. Oh, this is disappointing. Are you coming back at all to-night?”
“I don’t think so, Freda. By the way, have you heard that your little friend Sibyl has met with an accident?”
“Has she?” replied Freda. “I am very sorry. I like Sibyl very much.”
“So do I!” said Gus, coming up, “she’s the best sort of girl I ever came across, not like an ordinary girl – quite plucky, you know. What sort of accident did she have, father?”
“I don’t know; I am going to see. I am afraid it has something to do with the pony I gave her. Well, good-by, youngsters; if I don’t return by the last train to-night, I’ll be back early to-morrow, and we can have our drive then.”
Lord Grayleigh drove at once to Victoria Station, and took the next train to Richmond. It was a two-mile drive from there to Silverbel. He arrived at Silverbel between five and six in the afternoon. Mrs. Ogilvie was pacing about her garden, talking to two ladies who had come to call on her. When she saw Lord Grayleigh driving up the avenue, she uttered a cry of delight, apologized to her friends, and ran to meet him – both her hands extended.
“How good of you, how more than good of you,” she said. “This is just what I might have expected from you, Lord Grayleigh. You received my letter and you have come to answer it in person.”
“I have come, as you say, to answer it in person. How is Sibyl?”
“Oh, better. I mean she is about the same, but she really is going on very nicely. She does not suffer the slightest pain, and – ”
“Can I see her?”
“Of course you can. I will take you to her. Dear little thing, she will be quite delighted, you are a prime favorite of hers. But first, what about the bazaar? Ah, naughty man! you need not think you are going to get out of it, for you are, as Sibyl says, one of the big-wigs. We cannot do without big-wigs at our bazaar.”
“Well, Mrs. Ogilvie, I will come if I can. I cannot distinctly promise at the present moment, for I may possibly have to go to Scotland; but the chances are that I shall be at Grayleigh Manor, and if so I can come.”
Mrs. Ogilvie was walking with Lord Grayleigh down one of the corridors which led to the Chamber of Peace while this conversation was going on. As he uttered the last words she flung open the door.
“One of the big-wigs, Sibyl, come to see you,” she said, in a playful voice.
Lord Grayleigh saw a white little face with very blue eyes turned eagerly in his direction. He did not know why, but as he looked at the child something clutched at his heart with a strange fear. He turned to Mrs. Ogilvie and said,
“Rest assured that I will come.” He then went over, bent toward Sibyl and took her little white hand.
“I am sorry to see you like this,” he said. “What has happened to you, my little girl?”
“Oh, nothing much,” answered Sibyl, “I just had a fall, but I am quite all right now and I am awfully happy. Did you really come to see me? It is good of you. May I talk to Lord Grayleigh all by myself, mother darling?”
“Certainly, dear. Lord Grayleigh, you cannot imagine how we spoil this little woman now that she is lying on her back. I suppose it is because she is so good and patient. She never murmurs, and she enjoys herself vastly. Is not this a pretty room?”
“Beautiful,” replied Lord Grayleigh, in an abstracted tone. He sank into a chair near the window, and glanced out at the smoothly kept lawn, at the flower-beds with their gay colors, and at the silver Thames flowing rapidly by. Then he looked again at the child. The child’s grave eyes were fixed on his face; there was a faint smile round the lips but the eyes were very solemn.
“I will come back again, presently,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “By the way, Sib darling, Lord Grayleigh is coming to our bazaar, the bazaar for which you are dressing dolls.”
“Nursie is dressing them,” replied Sibyl in a weak voice – the mother did not notice how weak it was, but Lord Grayleigh did. “It somehow tires me to work. I ’spect I’m not very strong, but I’ll be better perhaps to-morrow. Nursie is dressing them, and they are quite beautiful.”
“Well, I’ll come back soon; you mustn’t tire her, Lord Grayleigh, and you and I have a great deal to talk over when you do come downstairs.”
“I must return to town by the next train,” said Lord Grayleigh; but Mrs. Ogilvie did not hear him. She went quickly away to join the friends who were waiting for her in the sunny garden.
“Lord Grayleigh has come,” she said. “He is quite devoted to Sibyl; he is sitting with her for a few minutes; the child worships him. Afterward he and I must have a rather business-like conversation.”
“Then we will go, dear Mrs. Ogilvie,” said both ladies.
“Thank you, dear friends; I hope you don’t think I am sending you away, but it is always my custom to speak plainly. Lord Grayleigh will be our principal patron at the bazaar, and naturally I have much to consult him about. I will drive over to-morrow to see you, Mrs. Le Strange, and we can discuss still further the sort of stall you will have.”
The ladies took their leave, and Mrs. Ogilvie paced up and down in front of the house. She was restless, and presently a slight sense of disappointment stole over her, for Lord Grayleigh was staying an unconscionably long time in Sibyl’s room.
Sibyl and he were having what he said afterward was quite a straight talk.
“I am so glad you have come,” said the little girl; “there are some things you can tell me that no one else can. Have you heard from father lately?”
“I had a cablegram from him not long ago.”
“What’s that?”
“The same as a telegram; a cablegram is a message that comes across the sea.”
“I understand,” said Sibyl. She thought of her pretty fancy of the phantom ships that took her night after night to the breast of her father.
“What are you thinking about?” said Lord Grayleigh.
“Oh, about father, of course. When he sent you that message did he tell you there was much gold in the mine?”
“My dear child,” said Lord Grayleigh, “what do you know about it?”
“I know all about it,” answered Sybil. “I am deeply interested, deeply.”
“Well, my dear little girl, to judge from your father’s message, the mine is full of gold, quite full.”
“Up to the tip top?”
“Yes, you can express it in that way if you like, up to the tip top and down, nobody knows how deep, full of beautiful yellow gold, but don’t let us talk of these things any more. Tell me how you really fell, and what that naughty pony did to you.”
“You must not scold my darling nameless pony, it was not his fault a bit,” said Sibyl. She turned first red and then whiter than usual.
“Do you greatly mind if I don’t talk about it?” she asked in a voice of sweet apology. “It makes me feel – ”
“How, dear?”
“I don’t know, only I get the up and down and round and round feel. It was the feel I had when pony sprang; he seemed to spring into the air, and I fell and fell and fell. I don’t like to get the feel back, it is so very round and round, you know.”
“We won’t talk of it,” said Lord Grayleigh; “what shall I do to amuse you?”
“Tell me more about father and the mine full of gold.”
“I have only just had the one cablegram, Sib, in which he merely stated that the news with regard to the mine was good.”
“I am delighted,” said Sibyl. “It’s awfully good of Lord Jesus. Do you know that I have been asking Lord Jesus to pile up the gold in the mine. He can do anything, you know, and He has done it, you see. Isn’t it sweet and dear of Him? Oh, you don’t know all He has done for me! Don’t you love Him very much indeed, Lord Grayleigh?”
“Who, Sibyl?”
“My Lord Jesus Christ, my beautiful Lord Jesus Christ.”
Lord Grayleigh bent and picked up a book which had fallen on the carpet. He turned the conversation. The child’s eyes, very grave and very blue, watched him. She did not say anything further, but she seemed to read the thought he wished to hide. He stood up, then he sat down again. Sibyl had that innate tact which is born in some natures, and always knew where to pause in her probings and questionings.
“Now,” she continued, after a pause, “dear Mr. and Mrs. Holman will be rich.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Holman,” said Lord Grayleigh; “who are they?”
“They are my very own most special friends. They keep a toy-shop in Greek Street, a back street near our house. Mrs. Holman is going to buy a lot of gold out of the mine. I’ll send her a letter to tell her that she can buy it quick. You’ll be sure to keep some of the gold for Mrs. Holman, she is a dear old woman. You’ll be quite sure to remember her?”
“Quite sure, Sibyl.”
“Hadn’t you better make a note of it? Father always makes notes when he wants to remember things. Have you got a note-book?”
“In my pocket.”
“Please take it out and put down about Mrs. Holman and the gold out of the mine.”
Lord Grayleigh produced a small note-book.
“What do you wish me to say?” he inquired.
“Put it this way,” said Sibyl eagerly, “then you won’t forget. Some of the gold in the – ”
“Lombard Deeps Mine,” supplied Lord Grayleigh.
“Some of the gold in the Lombard Deeps Mine,” repeated Sibyl, “to be kept special for dear Mr. and Mrs. Holman. Did you put that? Did you put dear Mr. and Mrs. Holman?”
“Just exactly as you have worded it, Sibyl.”
“Her address is number ten, Greek Street, Pimlico.”
The address being further added, Sibyl gave a sigh of satisfaction.
“That is nice,” she said, “that will make them happy. Mrs. Holman has cried so often because of the dusty toys, and ’cos the children won’t come to her shop to buy. Some children are very mean; I don’t like some children a bit.”
“I am glad you’re pleased about the Holmans, little woman.”
“Of course I am, and aren’t you. Don’t you like to make people happy?”
Again Lord Grayleigh moved restlessly.
“Have you any other notes for this book?” he said.
“Of course I have. There’s the one who wants to marry the other one. I’m under a vow not to mention names, but they want to marry so badly, and they will in double quick time if there’s gold in the mine. Will you put in your note-book ‘Gold to be kept for the one who wants to marry the other,’ will you, Lord Grayleigh?”
“I have entered it,” said Lord Grayleigh, suppressing a smile.
“And mother, of course,” continued Sibyl, “wants lots of money, and there’s my nurse, her eyes are failing, she would like enough gold to keep her from mending stockings or doing any more fine darning, and I’d like Watson to have some. Do you know, Lord Grayleigh, that Watson is engaged to be married? He is really, truly.”
“I am afraid, Sibyl, I do not know who Watson is.”
“Don’t you? How funny; he is our footman. I’m awfully fond of him. He is full of the best impulses, is Watson, and he is engaged to a very nice girl in the cookery line. Don’t you think it’s very sensible of Watson to engage himself to a girl in the cookery line?”
“I think it is thoroughly sensible, but now I must really go.”
“But you won’t forget all the messages? You have put them all down in your note-book. You won’t forget any of the people who want gold out of the Lombard Deeps?”
“No, I’ll be certain to remember every single one of them.”
“Then that’s all right, and you’ll come to darling mother’s bazaar?”
“I’ll come.”
“I am so glad. You do make me happy. I like big-wigs awfully.”