Chapter 20 Daddy's Girl by L. T. Meade
Ogilvie went up to Sibyl. Suffering and love had taught him many lessons, amongst others those of absolute self-control. His face was smiling and calm as he crossed the room, bent over the child and kissed her. Those blue eyes of hers, always so full of penetration and of knowledge, which was not all this earth, could detect no sorrow in her father’s.
“I must go to town, I shall be away for as short a time as possible. As soon as I come back I will come to you,” he said. “Look after her, please, Miss Winstead. If you cannot remain in the room, send nurse. Now, don’t tire yourself, my little love. Remember that father will be back very soon.”
“Don’t hurry, father darling,” replied Sibyl “’cos I am quite happy thinking about you, even if you are not here.”
He went away, ran downstairs, put on his hat and went out. His wife was standing in the porch.
“One moment, Phil,” she called, “where are you going?”
“To town.”
“To do what?”
“To do what I said,” he answered, and he gave her a strange look, which frightened her, and caused her to fall back against the wall.
He disappeared down the avenue, she sank into a chair and began to weep. She was thoroughly miserable and frightened. Philip had returned, but all pleasant golden dreams were shattered, for although he had sent a cablegram to Lord Grayleigh, saying that all was well, better than well, his conscience was speaking to him, that troublesome terrible conscience of his, and he was about to destroy his own work.
“What fearful creatures men with consciences are,” moaned Mrs. Ogilvie.
Meanwhile Ogilvie walked quickly up the avenue. Just at the gates he met an old couple who were coming in. They were a queer-looking old pair, dressed in old-fashioned style. Ogilvie did not know them, but the woman paused when she saw him, came forward, dropped a curtsey and said:
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“What can I do for you?” said Ogilvie. He tried to speak courteously, but this delay, and the presence of the old couple whose names he did not even know, irritated him.
“If you please, sir, you are Mr. Ogilvie?”
“That is my name.”
“We know you,” continued the old woman, “by the likeness to your little daughter.”
The mention of Sibyl caused Ogilvie now to regard them more attentively.
“May I inquire your names?” he asked.
“Holman, sir,” said the woman. “This is my husband, sir. We heard only yesterday of dear little Missie’s illness, and we couldn’t rest until we came to enquire after her. We greatly ’opes, sir, that the dear little lamb is better. We thought you wouldn’t mind if we asked.”
“By no means,” answered Ogilvie. “Any friends of Sibyl’s, any real friends, are of interest to me.”
He paused and looked into the old woman’s face.
“She’s better, ain’t she, dear lamb?” asked Mrs. Holman.
Ogilvie shook his head; it was a quick movement, his face was very white, his lips opened but no words came. The next instant he had hurried down the road, leaving the old pair looking after him.
Mrs. Holman caught her husband’s hand.
“What do it mean, John?” she asked, “what do it mean?”
“We had best go to the house and find out,” was Holman’s response.
“Yes, we had best,” replied Mrs. Holman; “but, John, I take it that it means the worst. The little lamb was too good for this earth. I always said it, John, always.”
“Come to the house and let’s find out,” said Holman again.
He took his old wife’s hand, and the strange-looking pair walked down the avenue. Presently they found themselves standing outside the pretty old-fashioned porch of lovely Silverbel. They did not know as they walked that they were in full view of the windows of the Chamber of Peace, and that eager blue eyes were watching them, eager eyes which filled with love and longing when they gazed at them.
“Miss Winstead!” cried little Sibyl.
“What is it, dear?” asked the governess.
Sibyl had been silent for nearly a quarter of an hour, and Miss Winstead, tired with the bazaar and many other things, had been falling into a doze. The sudden excitement in Sibyl’s voice now arrested her attention.
“Oh, Miss Winstead, they have come.”
“Who have come, dear?”
“The Holmans, the darlings! I saw them walking down the avenue. Oh, I should so like to see them. Will you go down and bring them up? Please do.”
“But the doctor said you were to be quiet, and not excite yourself.”
“What does it matter whether I incite myself or not? Please, please let me see the Holmans.”
“Yes, dear,” replied Miss Winstead. She left the room and went downstairs. As she entered the central hall she suddenly found herself listening to an animated conversation.
“Now, my good people,” said Mrs. Ogilvie’s voice, raised high and clear, “you will be kind enough to return to town immediately. The child is ill, but we hope soon to have her better. See her, did you say, my good woman? Certainly not. I shall be pleased to offer you refreshment if you will go round to the housekeeper’s entrance, but you must take the next train to town, you cannot see the child.”
“If you please, Mrs. Ogilvie,” here interrupted Miss Winstead, coming forward. “Sibyl noticed Mr. and Mrs. Holman as they walked down the avenue, and is very much pleased and delighted at their coming to see her, and wants to know if they may come up at once and have a talk with her?”
“Dear me!” cried Mrs. Ogilvie; “I really must give the child another bedroom, this sort of thing is so bad for her. It is small wonder the darling does not get back her health – the dreadful way in which she is over-excited and injudiciously treated. Really, my good folks, I wish you would go back to town and not make mischief.”
“But if the little lady wishes?” began Mrs. Holman, in a timid voice, tears trembling on her eyelids.
“Sibyl certainly does wish to see you,” said Miss Winstead in a grave voice. “I think, Mrs. Ogilvie,” she added, “it would be a pity to refuse her. I happen to know Mr. and Mrs. Holman pretty well, and I do not think they will injure dear little Sibyl. If you will both promise to come upstairs quietly,” continued Miss Winstead, “and not express sorrow when you see her, for she is much changed, and will endeavor to speak cheerfully, you will do her good, not harm.”
“Oh, yes, we’ll speak cheerfully,” said Holman; “we know the ways of dear little Miss. If so be that she would see us, it would be a great gratification, Madam, and we will give you our word that we will not injure your little daughter.”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, waving her hand, “My opinion is never taken in this house, nor my wishes consulted. I pass the responsibility on to you, Miss Winstead. When the child’s father returns and finds that you have acted as you have done you will have to answer to him. I wash my hands of the matter.”
Mrs. Ogilvie went out on to the lawn.
“The day is improving,” she thought. She glanced up at the sky. “It certainly is miserable at home, and every one talks nonsense about Sibyl. I shall really take a drive and go and see the Le Stranges. I cannot stand the gloom of the house. The dear child is getting better fast, there is not the least doubt of it, and why Phil should talk as he does, and in particular why he should speak as if we were paupers, is past bearing. Lose Silverbel! I certainly will not submit to that.”
So the much aggrieved wife went round in the direction of the stables, gave orders that the pony trap was to be got ready for her, and soon afterward was on her way to the Le Stranges. By the time she reached that gay and somewhat festive household, she herself was as merry and hopeful as usual.
Meantime Miss Winstead took the Holmans upstairs.
“You must be prepared for a very great change,” said Miss Winstead, “but you will not show her that you notice it. She is very sweet and very happy, and I do not think anyone need be over-sorry about her.”
Miss Winstead’s own voice trembled. The next moment she opened the door of the Chamber of Peace, and the old-fashioned pair from whom Sibyl had bought so many dusty toys stood before her.
“Eh, my little love, and how are you, dearie?” said Mrs. Holman. She went forward, dropped on her knees by the bed, and took one of Sibyl’s soft white hands. “Eh, dearie, and what can Mrs. Holman do for you?”
“How do you do, Mrs. Holman?” said Sibyl, in her weak, but perfectly clear voice; “and how do you do, Mr. Holman? How very kind of you both to come to see me. Do you know I love you very much. I think of you so often. Won’t you come to the other side of the bed, Mr. Holman, and won’t you take a chair? My voice is apt to get tired if I talk too loud. I am very glad to see you both.”
“Eh! but you look sweet,” said Mrs. Holman.
Mr. Holman now took his big handkerchief and blew his nose violently. After that precautionary act he felt better, as he expressed it, and no longer in danger of giving way. But Mrs. Holman never for a single instant thought of giving way. She had once, long ago, had a child of her own – a child who died when young – and she had sat by that dying child’s bed and never once given expression to her feelings. So why should she now grieve little Sibyl by showing undue sorrow?
“It is nice to look at you, dearie,” she repeated, “and what a pretty room you have, my love.”
“Everything is beautiful,” said little Sibyl, “everything in all the world, and I love you so much.”
“To be sure, darling, and so do Holman and I love you.”
“Whisper,” said Sibyl, “bend a little nearer, my voice gets so very tired. Have you kept your hundred pounds quite safe?”
“Yes, darling, but we won’t talk of money now.”
“Only,” said Sibyl, “when the gold comes from the mine you’ll be all right. Lord Grayleigh has wrote your name and Mr. Holman’s in his note-book, and he has promised that you are to get some of the gold. You’ll be able to have the shop in Buckingham Palace Road, and the children will come to you and buy your beautiful toys.” She paused here and her little face turned white.
“You must not talk any more, dearie,” said Mrs. Holman. “It’s all right about the gold and everything else. All we want is for you to get well.”
“I am getting well,” answered Sibyl, but as she said the words a curious expression came into her eyes.
“You know,” she said, as Mrs. Holman rose and took her hand before she went away, “that when we have wings we fly. I think my wings are coming; but oh, I love you, and you won’t forget me when you have your big shop in Buckingham Palace Road?”
“We will never forget you, dearie,” said Mrs. Holman, and then she stooped and kissed the child.
“Come, Holman,” she said.
“If I might,” said old Holman, straightening himself and looking very solemn, “if I might have the great privilege of kissing little Missie’s hand afore I go.”
“Oh, indeed, you may,” said Sibyl.
A moment later the old pair were seen going slowly down the avenue.
“Blessed darling, her wings are very near, I’m thinking,” said Mrs. Holman. She was sobbing now, although she had not sobbed in the sick room.
“Queer woman, the mother,” said Holman. “We’ll get back to town, wife; I’m wonderful upset.”
“We’ll never sell no more of the dusty toys to no other little children,” said Mrs. Holman, and she wept behind her handkerchief.