Chapter 29 Girls of the True Blue by L. T. Meade
DOWN BY THE WISTARIA
Augusta came down to lunch in high spirits. All was going swimmingly. She would have no difficulty now in carrying out her daring scheme. The point of danger was practically passed. Nancy sat during lunch at the same side as Augusta, so that astute young lady could not manage to see her face; but after lunch the beginning of the little programme which she had sketched out for Nancy’s benefit ought to have been begun. The endearing words, the suggestion of the night to be spent together, ought to be spoken. But immediately after the meal was over Nancy jumped up and ran out of the room.
“Tiresome little thing, is she forgetting?” said Augusta to herself. “Oh! perhaps it will do equally well at tea-time.”
But at tea-time Nancy was not there, and when Augusta inquired in solicitous tones where the little favourite could have hidden herself, Nora said:
“Oh! Nancy is not coming back to tea; she has gone for a walk in the woods with Miss Roy. She has gone, I think, to see little Grace Hammond, and to find out how her bird is.”
“Did you want her for anything?” asked Kitty.
“No,” replied Augusta crossly; “I just asked where she could be. I am very fond of little Nancy.”
All Augusta’s plans had now to be rearranged. Having got over her first wild anger against Nancy, she determined to ignore her, to do exactly what she pleased in spite of her, and trust to the little girl’s promise not to tell unless she were obliged to.
“Of course, she will never be obliged to,” said Augusta to herself; “I shall take good care of that.”
She then sat down and thought over matters. Yes, there was nothing whatever for it but to get out of her window, to climb down by the wistaria, and at night to return the same way. She could not possibly risk the chance of a window being open downstairs.
Fairleigh was an old-fashioned house, with shutters to all the lower windows, which were fastened by iron bars. It was situated quite by itself, and in a somewhat lonely part of the country, and these precautions were considered advisable. Night after night the servants closed the shutters and barred them, so there was no possible ingress by any of the lower windows.
Augusta considered herself in luck to have a room practically in a wing all by herself. She went to the window and looked down. Neither Nora nor Kitty would have thought anything of descending to the ground and climbing up again by the thick arm of the wistaria which ran all round this part of the house. But Augusta was not athletic, and had she been less set upon her evening’s amusement, she might have hesitated at the peril of letting herself down and of returning again by such romantic means.
“Nothing venture, nothing have,” however, and to go to the party she was resolved. She went downstairs, saw Kitty, and said in a voice which she rendered quite hollow:
“I am very ill indeed, Kitty; I have one of my desperate headaches. Do say good-night to the others, and forget all about me until you see me to-morrow morning.”
“Are you going to bed?” said Kitty. “It is not seven o’clock yet.”
“I must lie down; I cannot hold my head up another moment.”
“But can’t I do something for you? May I come and bathe your head, Gussie? I should like to, really.”
“No, thanks,” replied Augusta. “I would far rather be alone; quiet is all that I require. Don’t send me up anything to eat. Don’t have me disturbed on any account whatever. Good-night, Kitty, and say good-night to the others for me; what I want is quiet.”
“You do look bad,” said Kitty in an affectionate tone. She kissed her cousin, and then ran into the grounds. Nora and Uncle Peter were enjoying themselves under the shade of a big elm tree.
“I am so sorry about poor Augusta!” said Kitty.
“What about her?” said Uncle Peter.
“She has gone to bed with a bad headache; she says she is not to be disturbed. Oh! there is Nancy.—Come right over here, Nancy, and tell us about the bird.”
“The bird is quite well,” answered Nancy.
Her pretty face was pale, and there were big dark shadows under her eyes. Uncle Peter stretched out his hand and made room for her to seat herself near him.
“Has the wrong been put right?” he whispered.
She coloured and looked up at him.
“No,” she answered slowly, speaking almost into his ear. “But the wrong is not more wrong than it was this morning.”
“What a conundrum!” he said, with a laugh; but his laugh was uneasy, and he looked seriously at the child.
“There is something more the matter with her than I had any idea of,” was his thought.
“Augusta is ill,” here called out Kitty; “she has gone to her room, and is not to be disturbed.”
Captain Richmond had his arm round Nancy, and he felt a shiver run through her frame as Kitty uttered these words.
“What can it all mean?” he said to himself.
Meanwhile Augusta upstairs, even the mere thought of a headache forgotten, was getting ready for her party. She put on her prettiest white dress; the idea of borrowing a dress from the Asprays was not to be thought of for a moment. She tied a pale gold sash round her waist, and arranged her hair simply. Finally, she encircled her round and pretty throat with a single row of valuable pearls, and slipped a gold bangle on her arm. Her dress was pretty and suitable, and she looked well in it. She gazed at her own reflection in the glass with complacency. As a rule she had very little colour, but it was mounting now with a rich damask hue into each of her cheeks. Having attired herself all but her dancing-shoes, her gloves, and her fan, she slipped on her waterproof. This completely covered the white dress. She buttoned it right down, put a cap on her head, and looked out. The ground was about five-and-twenty feet away, but it seemed to Augusta then to be quite at a giddy distance. For a careful climber there was no difficulty in the descent. It was but to place a foot on one branch after the other of the wistaria, which spread forth its branches to within three feet of the ground, and the deed was done.
In order to make things more safe Augusta had tied a strong cord to her window-sash; and then, the time being come and the home party all in the house enjoying their supper, she locked her door, put out the light, and began her descent. With the aid of the rope she was able to manage it, and trembling very much, she finally reached the ground.
Were the moon to come out brightly, and were any one to walk round to that part of the house, that person might observe the rope hanging from the window, and the window itself a little open. But Augusta must take her chance of that. The sky was clouded over, too; it would probably rain before long. So much the better for her.
She ran quickly across the grounds and entered the woods. How dark and solemn they were at this hour! Had she been less excited she might even have felt a little bit afraid. But her excitement kept all nervousness at bay.
She ran on and on. Once she stumbled upon the stump of a tree which was sticking out of the ground. She fell and slightly grazed her arm, jumped up again, and went on.
At last she had reached the farther entrance to the wood. Here Flora, with the dogcart, ought to have met her; but there was no Flora and no vehicle of any sort in sight. What was to be done? Was it possible that Flora could have forgotten? Oh no, that would not be like her friend.
Augusta stood still, panting slightly, and feeling, for the first time, subdued and a little alarmed. Should she go back and give up all her glorious fun for which she had risked so much, or should she go forward?
The Asprays’ house was two miles away. She made up her mind to walk there.
“Oh, how unkind of Flora—how horrid of her!” thought Augusta. “What can—what can be the meaning of this? Well, I will get there somehow, and shame her to her face.”
Accordingly, she started off to walk as fast as she could over the dusty roads. It was nearly ten o’clock when she reached the Asprays’. She was surprised to see no signs of festivity. A few lights were burning in the drawing-room, and a few also in the dining-room. But the place wore no air of expectancy or bustle or gaiety.
“What can it mean? Have I come on the wrong night?” thought Augusta.
She ran up the steps and sounded the front-door bell. In a moment the butler threw open the door.
“Is Miss Flora in?” asked Augusta, in some wonder.
“Yes, miss; but——
“I want to see her. I must see her at once. Show me somewhere,” said Augusta in peremptory tones.
“My mistress said, miss, no one was to come into the house, but”——
“Nonsense!” said Augusta. “I will see Miss Flora, and immediately.”
The man took Augusta into a small room on the ground floor, switched on the light, and left her. In a minute or two Flora rushed in.
“Gussie,” she said, “how madly dangerous! What have you done it for?”
“What have you neglected me for?” said Augusta, opening her mackintosh and revealing her pretty evening-dress. “What is the matter? This is the night of your party, and you promised to meet me outside our wood. You never came, and I have walked all the way; and, oh, I am so tired, and so dreadfully frightened! What is it, Flo? What is wrong?”
“Then you never got my letter?” said Flora.
“Oh no; but please explain this mystery. I am so tired. Is not there a party to-night? Oh, I have gone through such a lot to come! And now what can this mean?”
“I am ever so sorry,” said Flora. “Mother would be quite mad if she knew you had come into the house, Gussie. It is too late for the rest of us, unfortunately; but for you”——
“Oh, what is it?”
“It is Constance. She is awfully ill—most fearfully, dangerously ill. We have all been with her until this morning, and the doctor says the whole house is infected. It is smallpox. Oh, isn’t it frightful?”
“Smallpox!” said Augusta.
She would not have feared scarlet-fever or diphtheria. But smallpox—that ghastly disease which did not always kill, but which took the lovely and the graceful and the gracious and defiled them; which made the fair face hideous, destroyed the right proportions, and stamped them for life!
Augusta, like every other girl in all the world, was afraid of smallpox.
“How was it I never got your letter?” she said.
“It was only known this morning,” continued Flo. “Even last night we did not think much about it. She was fearfully ill, of course, and I slept in her room. But she is subject to bad feverish attacks, and we hoped she would get well, and that we need not put off the party. The doctor came early this morning; and—she is covered with it. Oh, it is frightful! I have been vaccinated, and so has every one else in the house. But the doctor says we have all run the gravest risk. There is no use in our going away, however, for no one would take us in.”
“And is she—is she in danger?” Augusta cried, feeling a slight pang of remorse as she remembered Constance’s delicate and lovely features.
“Oh, I don’t know. They say it is a very bad case; she is quite delirious. Oh, it is awful! I saw her this morning, and I would not have known her. I am awfully upset, and I feel sick with terror. Gussie, you ought not to have come in.”
“Perhaps I had better go away,” said Augusta. “I am very sorry, of course. It was a pity you didn’t let me have the letter.”
“Mother gave it to the groom to take to you, but I suppose in the scare he forgot it. I will speak to him in the morning. Would you like him to drive you back now, Gussie? But the dogcart is not quite safe, for poor Constance drove in it the day before yesterday. She fainted before we brought her home; that was the beginning of her illness.”
“I had better walk,” said Augusta. “Good-night.”
“Good-night. I won’t tell mother that you came, as she would be in such an awful fright. But I hope you have not run any danger. Perhaps you had better tell your doctor and be vaccinated at once. Good-night—good-night.”
Augusta went away. She did not even turn to kiss Flora. She nodded to her vaguely, as though she were not thinking about her, and walked down the avenue. When she had gone down a little way she turned and looked up at the windows of the room where the sick girl lay struggling with death. She gave a shudder, and hurried her footsteps.
What an end to her mad adventure!
She was very tired, and all the excitement which had kept her up during the past day was now merged into a great terror. What should she do? Had she contracted infection in that terrible house? Ought she to be vaccinated?
All her thoughts were for herself. She was more angry with Constance than sorry for her. How severely that groom ought to be blamed for not delivering the note!
It was after eleven o’clock when she got back to Fairleigh. Had things turned out as she expected she would not have got back nearly so soon. The house was in darkness except for a light in the library window. The window was shut, and so were the shutters, but the light came out on the gravel through one or two of the chinks.
Augusta knew that Captain Richmond was there. He generally stayed in the library for an hour or so after the others had gone to bed. Just for a moment a wild longing came over her to tell him what had happened—to seek his advice. If she were infected, had she any right to infect the others?
She must not attempt to go back to her room while Captain Richmond was in the library, for the library was almost immediately under her room.
“What a nuisance his sitting up so late!” she thought.
She was too tired to walk another step. She sank down on a garden seat, wrapped her mackintosh round her, and tried to think; but her head was giddy, and her brain in a whirl. Her one and only desire was to get back safely to her room—to fling herself on her bed and lose consciousness in sleep.
Even the prize, the great and glorious prize, was as nothing to her now. Even school in Paris seemed remote and uninteresting. Suppose she sickened for smallpox. Suppose her face, so smooth and fair and attractive-looking, was altered and made ugly. Suppose she—died.
“Oh, why doesn’t that horrid man go to bed?” thought the girl. She jumped up and paced about on the grass. She had been too hot; she was now too cold.
After a time, to her horror, she heard the shutters being unbarred. The window opened, and Captain Richmond put out his head.
“Is anybody there?” he said. “I thought I heard some one speak. Is anybody there?”
There was no answer.
Augusta, in terror, was hiding behind a bush of laurustinus.
“I must have fancied it,” thought the Captain,
He waited for another minute, then shut the window, refastened the shutters, put out the light, and went up to his own room.
Augusta breathed a sigh of relief. Creeping carefully forward, she reached the wistaria, and clutching the cord, began cautiously to ascend. But if she had been nervous descending from her window, that was nothing at all to her present feelings. She was thoroughly unstrung, and very tired. When she had nearly reached the top she gave a sudden lunge forward, missed the rope, and only saved herself by clutching hold of the bare arm of a part of the vine.
In doing so she gave her wrist intolerable pain, and very nearly fainted. But the danger in which she found herself steadied her nerves sufficiently to enable her to make another great effort, and a moment later she was safe inside her room.
“So much for stolen pleasures,” thought the miserable girl. “Here I am back again, battered, torn—oh, how my wrist aches!—and having run into the gravest danger of my whole life. But there! I must only hope for the best. Now to untie the cord, put it carefully out of sight, shut the window, take off my horrid, useless finery, and get into bed.”