Chapter 30 Girls of the True Blue by L. T. Meade
AUGUSTA IS FRIGHTENED
The next day Augusta’s wrist was considerably swollen, and she was in such pain that when Miss Roy went to see her she immediately said the doctor had better be sent for. Augusta herself was scarcely thinking of her wrist.
“If I can only see the doctor by himself,” she thought, “and get him to vaccinate me and say nothing about it. But that is quite impossible. And yet, it certainly ought to be done.”
The girls were all very kind to Augusta, whose head ached, and who was quite willing to remain in bed. But the one question on all the pairs of lips was:
“How did you do it, Gussie? How did you give your wrist such an awful sprain?”
“I did it shutting the window,” said Augusta, jumping at the first excuse she could think of. “Oh, it is nothing; I shall get up presently. It is not my wrist that I mind so much, but the headache I had yesterday evening has not quite gone.”
The doctor came, and said the wrist was badly sprained. He bandaged it carefully, and told Augusta she must wear her arm in a sling.
“How did you say you did it?” was his final remark.
“In shutting the window,” said Augusta. “I slipped somehow.”
The doctor made no reply, but he gave Augusta a somewhat searching look.
“He doesn’t believe me,” thought the girl. “I wonder what he thinks I have been up to. Have I really such a wicked look? For one who means to win the Royal Cross that would never do. That dear, sanctimonious Uncle Peter would scent mischief, and my chances would be over.”
Augusta put on a very mournful expression. The doctor took his leave, assuring her that he would return on the following morning.
“I wish he were a nice, young, handsome doctor,” thought Augusta; “then perhaps I could coax him to keep my secret for me, and to vaccinate me without telling the others. But he is just the most stupid sort—middle-aged and matter-of-fact.”
She lay back on her pillows, feeling exhausted and languid. She had gone through a great deal more than she had any idea of herself on the previous night.
The other girls took turn about to come and sit in her room. Nancy came early in the afternoon. The day was hot and one of the windows was wide open. Nancy sat with her elbows on the window-sill, and now and then she looked out.
Augusta pretended to read a book; she did not care to talk to Nancy. Presently the little girl’s voice sounded in her ear.
“You didn’t really sprain your wrist when you shut the window, did you?” she asked.
“The less you know, Nancy, the better for you.” Augusta answered.
Nancy coloured, and shut her lips. Augusta again took up her book.
“What trash this is!” she said. “I do hate children’s books. Is there nothing racy and lively in the house?”
“I will go to the library and look,” said Nancy.
“Get a novel—a good, rousing love story.”
“I don’t know what sort of books those are,” replied Nancy.
“Oh, you are too good to live, Nancy! You make me perfectly sick. Get one of Mrs. Henry Wood’s books. I don’t much care for her, but she is better than no one.”
Nancy left the room. She went down to the library and searched for a long time, but could not find any of Mrs. Henry Wood’s novels, and was returning again to Augusta’s room when she met the Captain.
“Whither away, Nancy?” he asked in a cheerful tone.
“I am sitting with Augusta,” answered Nancy. “She is better, but she is not at all like herself. I wanted something exciting for her to read.”
“Have you found what you wanted?”
“No.”
“Come back to the library and we will look together.”
They searched along the well-lined walls, and presently Nancy took King Solomon’s Mines up to Augusta.
“Little stupid! I have read it,” said Augusta; and she flung the book with passion to the other side of the room.
“You will hurt your wrist if you are so rough,” said Nancy. She went and stood by the window. She looked out, and suddenly made an exclamation.
“Why, Gussie!” she cried.
“Well, what now?”
“How did you do—— Oh, I say! there is your gold bangle hanging on one of the small branches of the wistaria—just half-way down. How did it get there?”
“Can it be seen?” asked Augusta.
“Seen!” answered Nancy. “Of course it can; it shines like anything.”
“Run down at once; go under my window and find out if you can see it from below.”
“But I am sure I can. Why should I go?”
“Go to oblige me; and be quick, Nancy—be quick.”
Nancy went. She returned in a few minutes.
“It can be seen,” she said; “and very plainly, too.”
“Then you must manage to get it off that branch, Nancy. Do you hear? You must.”
“I!” cried Nancy. “But how, Gussie? How am I to get down? It is ever so many feet away.”
“You must climb down.”
“But I am afraid of climbing. I always get giddy when I look from any height. I daren’t do it, Gussie; I should fall on my head and get killed.”
“You really are the most tiresome child,” said Augusta. “Here, stand out of my way. Let me look for myself.”
Augusta got out of bed, and peeped over the window-sill.
“How very awkward!” she said. “How could it have got there? It must have dropped from my arm last night when I went to look out.”
“Just before you shut the window?” said Nancy.
“Well, yes. Do you think any one will believe that story?”
“No, I don’t,” replied Nancy after a moment’s pause.
Augusta laughed. “Goosey, goosey, gander!” she said. “I might have known that you were not quite such a goose as all that. Now, could we not hook it up with an umbrella handle? Do let’s try.”
Both girls tried, but in vain.
“There is nothing for it, Nancy, but to get the gardener to bring a ladder. You must point it out to him, and ask him to take it down. Where is the gardener to-day?”
“I don’t know,” replied Nancy. “I have not seen him.”
“Well, you must go and look for him. What are the rest of them doing?”
“We are all going to have tea in the woods.”
“And leave me! How unkind!”
“Miss Roy said she would sit with you.”
“No, Nancy; she must not. You will have to stay with me. Do you hear? You must make up some sort of excuse, and then when they are all away we will ask the gardener to get us back the bracelet. Do you hear, Nancy? You must do it. I should get into the most horrible scrape otherwise; and after the way you deserted me last night it is the very least you can do.”
“Very well,” said Nancy in a low tone. “But I did want to go to the woods,” she murmured under her breath.
“I know you are to be trusted,” said Augusta. “And now I think I may have a few minutes’ sleep. You can wake me when tea arrives.”
Nancy went downstairs and told the others that she intended to stay with Augusta. Miss Roy exclaimed:
“My dear, you are looking quite pale. I often feel anxious about you. You want the air. You have been with Augusta for ever so long to-day.”
“Indeed, I would rather stay,” answered Nancy; and she coloured so painfully, and there was such an eager, supplicating glance in her eyes, that Miss Roy said nothing further.
“What a dear, sweet, unselfish little soul she is!” thought Captain Richmond. He was disappointed not to have her company in the woods; but as he passed her side he patted her on the shoulder.
“I can quite understand that the brave soldier sometimes denies himself,” he said.
A lump came into Nancy’s throat, but she made no reply.
The party went off, carrying a kettle and a tea-basket. Their voices faded away in the distance, and Nancy went up to Augusta.
“They have gone; I have heard them,” cried Augusta. “Now fetch the gardener, and be very, very quick.”
Nancy went downstairs. She raced all over the place, and at last she found Simpson, the very worthy old gardener whom Mrs. Richmond always employed.
“Can you come with a ladder, and can you come at once?” asked the little girl.
“Well now, miss, I am particular busy to-day,” was Simpson’s answer; “but if so be as you want me very bad, why, I’ll do what I can for you, miss. But if it is for that other young lady——”
“Is it for the other young lady, miss?”
“It is for me, because I want to help her,” said Nancy. “She has dropped a bracelet—a gold bangle—into the wistaria which grows up to her window.”
“Oh! I know that wistaria,” said Simpson, with a laugh. “It is a good, steady sort of tree, and afore now it has been made useful. Well, missy, if Miss Augusta has dropped her bangle into the wistaria it can wait till to-night. I need not lug a ladder all that way in the midst of my other work.”
“Oh! she wants you to come now; she does indeed, Simpson.”
“Then I must go,” replied the old man; and presently he and his ladder appeared under the window of Augusta’s room. Augusta had partly dressed, and stood by the window giving directions. When the bangle was handed in to her she seized it, but not very graciously.
“Here,” she said to Simpson, “is a shilling; and I am much obliged to you. You will never speak of it, of course; it is quite a private matter, and you must never on any account tell.”
“I ain’t likely to tell what don’t concern me,” replied Simpson—“that is, I don’t tell unless I am arsked. But as to your shilling, miss, you can keep it, for I don’t want none of it.”
He stepped down from the ladder and moved slowly away.
“What a horrid, impertinent old man!” said Augusta when he had gone. “But there! the bangle is all right. Put it into my jewellery drawer, Nancy. Oh dear! I wonder, Nancy, if you have ever felt frightened—scared, you know.”
“Yes; once I did,” replied Nancy.
“Did you? Oh! I wish you would tell me about it. It would interest me; it would be as good as a novel.”
“It was when mother was alive,” said Nancy. “The doctor said she was very ill, that she might be dead in the morning. She did not die—not—not then; but I spent an awful night. Yes, I was scared.”
“I don’t think the account of your being scared sounds very fascinating, Nancy,” said Augusta. “It is not like my scare.”
“But are you scared about something?”
“Yes; I have had a great and terrible scare.”
“Won’t you tell me?”
“Not yet; I will some time, but not yet. I think I’ll get up now; I am much better. Come, help me into my dress. We will both be downstairs when they come back from the woods.”
Nancy helped Augusta to dress, and the two girls went downstairs.
The party from the woods returned about eight o’clock. They were all excited, and brimful of news. Miss Roy was the first to speak of it.
“How lucky,” she said—“how very, very lucky it is that Mrs. Richmond has forbidden you girls to have anything to do with the Asprays!”
“Why?” asked Nancy.
“My dear, a terrible—most terrible—thing has happened. That poor, pretty girl Constance is down with malignant smallpox. She is terribly ill, and the doctors say not likely to recover. The doctors are terribly anxious, and they have sent for a specialist from town.”
“How did you hear it?” asked Augusta. She was standing in the shadow, and as she spoke she pulled Nancy towards her.
“Keep quiet,” she whispered in her ear.—“How did you hear it, Miss Roy?” she repeated; and she fixed her eyes, bold and restless, on the governess’s face.
“Some friends of ours passed through the woods, and they told us,” she answered. “How terrible it all is! I only wish we could help them, poor creatures, but that is not to be thought of. They say the whole family are liable to catch it, as the unfortunate girl was with them during the first stage of the disease. There is no more fearful disease than smallpox. I almost wonder, girls, if your mother would like you to remain here.”
“Oh! the girls are perfectly safe at Fairleigh,” said the Captain. “I can take it upon myself to say that. But it may be better for them not to go into the town until we find out how the poor girl got the complaint.”
“Nancy, I am not quite well; will you help me back to my room?” Augusta tottered as she spoke, and fell into a chair which stood near.
Both Kitty and Nora rushed up to her, and Miss Roy went to the sideboard and fetched a glass of wine.
“Your wrist has hurt you very much, dear,” she said. “You ought not to have come down. What a very excellent thing that you have not been near the Asprays for a long time! It is quite a fortnight since you saw any of them.”
“Oh, quite—quite!” answered Augusta.
“And now, as you suggested,” said Miss Roy, “you had better go to your room.—Kitty, you go with your cousin. Nancy ought to have a run in the fresh air before night.”
“No; I want Nancy. I can’t—I won’t have any one else,” said Augusta.
“And I don’t want to go out, really,” said Nancy, looking full at Miss Roy as she spoke.
The two girls left the room and went upstairs.
The moment they got to her room Augusta said, “Lock the door, Nancy; lock it, and come over close to me. Take my hands in yours. Feel how cold I am. Feel how I tremble.”
“Yes—yes; I know,” said Nancy.
“And you know also about my terror—my scare?”
“Yes; I think so. But, Gussie, were you there last night?”
“Yes; in the house—the very house. I saw Flora, and Flora had slept in the room with Connie the night before; and they said I ought not to have come in, but I went. Oh! I am sure I am infected, and if I get it I shall die. Oh Nan! I am sick with terror—sick with terror.”
“You must tell,” said Nancy. “You must tell Uncle Peter and Miss Roy at once. I know they will forgive you and be sorry for you; but, Augusta, you must tell.”
“Tell!” said Augusta. “You little horror, if you let it out, I don’t know what I shall not do to you. Of course I won’t tell; why should I? Tell! Why, that would mean no Paris, no Royal Cross. It would mean disgrace; it would mean ruin. I am never going to tell.”
“But suppose you get smallpox.”
“Will telling save me?”
“But it will save the others. You ought not to be with them. You may give it to Kitty and Nora.”
“And to Nancy. Now I know why Nancy is so anxious that I should make a confession. But I won’t tell; and you must not tell. Now sit close to me, and let us think. It is a real comfort to have you to confide in. There! put your arms round my neck and hug me. Oh dear, how miserable I am!”
Augusta was so really wretched, and so genuinely terrified, that Nancy could not but pity her. It was impossible to be cross in the midst of such agony; and when Augusta crept close to the little girl, and squeezed her tight, and laid her head on her shoulder, Nancy found herself, in spite of everything, returning her embrace.
“You are a nice little thing,” said Augusta—“so soft and petable. You don’t know how you comfort me and help me to bear up. What I really ought to do is to be vaccinated. Dr Earle ought to vaccinate me, but I am afraid to speak to him.”
“He certainly would tell the others,” said Nancy; “and,” she added, “I must, of course, tell them. You know, Gussie, it would be very, very wrong of me to keep this a secret.”
Augusta sat still, thinking hard. Notwithstanding her softness and gentle appearance, she knew well that Nancy could be obstinate. She could be firm; she could be valiant for the truth. Augusta had proved all that the day before when the little girl had refused to help her in her escapade; so she tried to consider the best possible means of securing poor Nancy’s silence by guile.
“After all, now that I come to think of it, there would be no use in my being vaccinated,” she said.
“Why?” Nancy asked. “I thought it was considered a sort of safeguard.”
“Yes; but I was done two years back, and I didn’t take it. The doctor did me twice, and I didn’t take it either time, and he said that proved I was not liable to smallpox. What a good thing I remembered! I am not half so frightened now, for our clever doctor at home must have known what he was talking about. Don’t you think his opinion worth having, Nancy?”
“Yes; it comforts me too,” said Nancy. “But still, I am sure you ought to tell.”
“Now, why, you little goose? Do consider and be sensible, Nan. Oh, you must squeeze your arms round my neck again; I do so love to feel them! You know I am deeply attached to you, Nancy. I never mean to let you go out of my life—never.”
“Oh!” answered Nancy.
“And you love me too; don’t you, little darling?”
“I—I pity you,” said Nancy, her voice trembling.
“Well, well! pity is akin to love. But now to the point at issue. Remember what my doctor said. I am almost sure I shall not take the smallpox, and there would be no use in vaccinating me, for I certainly should not take that; so what would be the good of frightening every one? Think of the awful fortnight they would have, not being certain any moment whether I should get ill or not.”
“Yes, but Nora and Kitty could go away.”
“Where would be the use of that? I cannot infect them unless I get it. The clothes I wore when I was with Flora are hanging up in my cupboard. I have nothing on me that I wore then. Nancy, do believe that I am wiser than you. It would be cruel to frighten them all. I will tell them afterwards—yes, I will tell them afterwards, when the fortnight is past, when the danger is over; and meanwhile, if you will only be silent, I will do everything for you that I promised to do if you had helped me last night. Think what that means: the paper I robbed you of returned; and all the story of your past life explained. What a time we shall have together! And how wise you will be when you know the truth!”
“And my bird—my darling Sunbeam?” whispered Nancy.
“Perhaps I will tell about that too. I am awfully sorry about it. But, anyhow, you shall know the two other things, and we will be a good bit together for the next few days. Nancy, the moment I feel ill, the least little scrap ill, with a headache or anything, I will go away to my room, and no one shall see me but you. You are not nervous about yourself, are you?”
“Not a scrap,” answered Nancy.
“You promise that you will not tell?”
“Oh, I suppose it is frightfully wrong—I am almost sure it is frightfully wrong—but you do tempt me; and if what you say is quite true—I mean about the vaccination—perhaps it would do no good to tell.”
“But I’ll tell you what you can do. Now that Miss Roy knows about Connie, you can put it into her head to have the rest of you vaccinated. Oh, my dear Nancy, I feel quite happy at last.”
So Nancy yielded. She was sorry enough afterwards, but she yielded, being compelled by Augusta’s entreaties, by the look in her eyes, and the tempting bait she held up for her acceptance.
That night Nancy was in possession of some important pieces of information. She knew exactly the position she held with regard to the Asprays. She could claim the Asprays’ house as her home by right at any moment. She could leave Mrs. Richmond, and go to Mr. Aspray and say, “You owed my father money, and now I have come to you, and you are bound by your own solemn promise to my father to take me and provide for me. This is my right, and I owe nothing to you, because my father helped you with a large sum of money.”
This was the news that Nancy was told by Augusta, but she took good care not to enlighten the little girl as to how she came by the information, Nancy listened with flushed cheeks and shining eyes; and presently, tired out, she went away to bed.
“I suppose I ought to be glad,” she thought as she laid her head on her pillow; “but I am not glad, for I can never consider the Asprays’ house my own. And, yes—oh yes—I would rather be Mrs. Richmond’s little charity-girl than be the grandest girl in the world as Mr. Aspray’s adopted daughter.”
This news kept her from thinking so much about the smallpox, and about the danger which Augusta had run.
“Nan,” said Kitty as she tumbled into bed, “how hot your face is! You tire yourself over Gussie.”
“Oh, I am all right,” said Nancy.
“Isn’t it a good thing,” said Nora, “that Augusta has not been so much with the Asprays? She might have got into most awful danger; but, as it is, all is safe.”
Nancy was silent, and Kitty gave her a very earnest glance.
“You know something, and you are not going to tell us,” she said abruptly.
“I wish you would not question me. I have a headache,” pleaded Nancy.
“Well, no, we won’t. Gussie could not have been so awfully, awfully wicked as to disobey Uncle Peter. We do know that she might be guilty of tiny sins, but a great monstrous one like that—oh, it is impossible! Now, Nan, get into bed and get your headache well. Oh, what a pity you were not downstairs to-night! We were discussing all about prize-day. Uncle Peter has arranged that it comes off on Thursday week—that is, in about ten days from now. Oh, it will be a day and a half, I can tell you!”