My New Home

CHAPTER XIV

KEZIA'S COUNSEL

The sound of low voices – Lindsay's and Kezia's, followed by an exclamation, Kezia's of course – reached Harry and me as we stood there in silence looking at each other.

Then the door was pushed open and in hurried my old friend.

'Miss Helena!' she said breathlessly. 'Miss Helena, I could scarce believe Master Lindsay! Dear, dear, how frightened your grandmother will be!'

I could see that it went against her kindly feelings to receive me by blame at the very first, and yet her words showed plainly enough what she was thinking.

'Grandmamma will not be frightened,' I said, rather coldly. 'Harry has sent her a telegram, and besides – I don't think she would have been frightened any way. It's all quite different now, Kezia, you don't understand. She's got other people to care for instead of me.'

Kezia took no notice of this.

'Dear, dear!' she said again. 'To think of you coming here alone! I'm sure when Master Lindsay met me at the door saying: "Guess who's here, Kezia," I never could have – ' but here I interrupted her.

'If that's all you've got to say to me I really don't care to hear it,' I said, 'but it's a queer sort of welcome. I can't go away to-night, I suppose, but I will the very first thing to-morrow morning. I daresay they'll take me in at the vicarage, but really – ' I broke off again – 'considering that this is my own home, and – and – that I had no one else to go to in all the world except you, Kezia, I do think – ' but here my voice failed, I burst into tears.

Kezia put her arms round me very kindly.

'Poor dear,' she said, 'whatever mistakes you've made, you must be tired to death. Come with me into the dining-room, Miss Helena, there's a better fire there, and I'll get you a cup of tea or something, and then you must go to bed. Your own room's quite ready, just as you left it. Master Lindsay has the little chair-bed in Mr. Harry's room – your grandmamma's room, I mean.'

She led me into the dining-room, talking as she went, in this matter-of-fact way, to help me to recover myself.

Harry and Lindsay remained behind.

'I have had – some – milk, and a piece of – gingerbread,' I said, between my sobs, as Kezia established me in front of the fire in the other room. 'I don't think I could eat anything else, but I'd like some tea very much.'

I shivered in spite of the beautiful big fire close to me.

'You shall have it at once,' said Kezia, hurrying off, 'though it mustn't be strong, and I'll make you a bit of toast, too.'

Then I overheard a little bustle in the kitchen, and by the sounds, I made out that Harry or Lindsay, or both of them perhaps, were helping Kezia in her preparations.

'What nice boys they are,' I thought to myself, and a feeling of shame began to come over me that I should have first got to know them when acting in a way that they, Harry at least, so evidently thought wrong and foolish.

But now that, in spite of her disapproval, I felt myself safe in Kezia's care, the restraint I had put upon myself gave way more and more. I sat there crying quietly, and when the little tray with tea and a tempting piece of hot toast (which Harry's red face showed he had had to do with) made its appearance I ate and drank obediently, almost without speaking.

Half an hour later I was in bed in my own little room, Kezia tucking me in as she had done so very, very often in my life.

'Now go to sleep, dearie,' she said, 'and think of nothing till to-morrow morning, except that when things come to the worst they begin to get better.'

And sleep I did, soundly and long. Harry and Lindsay had had their breakfast two hours before at least, when I woke, and other things had happened. A telegram had come in reply to Harry's, thanking him for it, announcing Mr. Vandeleur's arrival that very afternoon, and desiring Harry to meet him at Middlemoor Station.

They did not tell me of this; perhaps they were afraid it would have made me run off again somewhere else. But when my old nurse brought up my breakfast we had a long, long talk together. I told her all that I had told Harry the night before, and of course in some ways it was easier for her to understand than it had been for him. I could not have had a better counsellor. She just put aside all I said about grandmamma's not caring for me any longer as simple nonsense; she didn't attempt to explain all the causes of my having been left so much to myself. She didn't pretend to understand it altogether.

'Your grandmamma will put it all right to you, herself, when she sees well to do so,' she said. 'She has just made one mistake, Miss Helena, it seems to me – she has credited you with more sense than perhaps should be expected of a child.'

I didn't like this, and I felt my cheeks grow red.

'More sense,' repeated Kezia, 'and she has trusted you too much. It should have pleased you to be looked on like that, and if you'd been a little older it would have done so. The idea that you could think she had left off caring for you would have seemed to her simply impossible. She has trusted you too much, and you, Miss Helena, have not trusted her at all.'

'But you're forgetting, Kezia, what I heard myself, with my own ears, about sending me away to school, and how little she seemed to care.'

Kezia smiled, rather sadly.

'My dearie,' she said, 'I have not served Mrs. Wingfield all the years I have, not to know her better than that. I daresay you'll never know, unless you live to be a mother and grandmother yourself, what the thought of parting with you was costing her, at the very time she spoke so quietly.'

'But when I fell downstairs,' I persisted, 'she seemed so vexed with me, and then – oh! for days and days before that, I had hardly seen her.'

Kezia looked pained.

'Yes, my dear, it must have been hard for you, but harder for your grandmamma. There are times in life when all does seem to be going the wrong way. And very likely being so very troubled and anxious herself, about you as well as about other things, made your grandmamma appear less kind than usual.'

Kezia stopped and hesitated a little.

'I think as things are,' she said, 'I can't be doing wrong in telling you a little more than you know. I am sure my dear lady will forgive me if I make a mistake in doing so, seeing she has not told you more herself, no doubt for the best of reasons.'

She stopped again. I felt rather frightened.

'What do you mean, Kezia?' I said.

'It is about Mrs. Vandeleur. Do you know, my dear Miss Helena, that it has just been touch and go these last days, if she was to live or die?'

'Oh, Kezia!' I exclaimed; 'no, I didn't know it was as bad as that,' and the tears – unselfish, unbitter tears this time – rushed into my eyes as I remembered the sweet white face that I had seen in grandmamma's room, and the gentle voice that had tried to say something kind and loving to me. 'Oh, Kezia, I wish I had known. Do you think it will have hurt her, my peeping into the room yesterday?' for I had told my old nurse everything.

She shook her head.

'No, my dear, I don't think so. She is going to get really better now, they feel sure – as sure as it is ever right to feel about such things, I mean. Only yesterday morning I had a letter from your grandmamma, saying so. She meant to tell you soon, all about the great anxiety there had been – once it was over – she had been afraid of grieving and alarming you. So, dear Miss Helena, if you had just been patient a little longer – '

My tears were dropping fast now, but still I was not quite softened.

'All the same, Kezia,' I said, 'they meant to send me to school.'

'Well, my dear, if they had, it might have been really for your happiness. You would have been sent nowhere that was not as good and nice a school as could be. And, of course, though Mrs. Vandeleur has turned the corner in a wonderful way, she will be delicate for long – perhaps never quite strong, and the life is lonely for you.'

'I wouldn't mind,' I said, for the sight of sweet Cousin Agnes had made me feel as if I would do anything for her. 'I wouldn't mind, if grandmamma trusted me, and if I could feel she loved me as much as she used. I would do my lessons alone, or go to a day-school or anything, if only I felt happy again with grandmamma.'

'My dearie, there is no need for you to feel anything else.'

'Oh yes – there is now, even if there wasn't before,' I said, miserably. 'Think of what I have done. Even if grandmamma forgave me for coming away here, Cousin Cosmo would not – he is so stern, Kezia. He really is – you know Harry and Lindsay thought so – Gerard Nestor told us, and though Harry won't speak against him, I can see he doesn't care for him.'

'Perhaps they have not got to know each other,' suggested Kezia. 'Master Harry is a dear boy; but so was Mr. Cosmo long ago – I can't believe his whole nature has changed.'

Then another thought struck me.

'Kezia,' I said, 'I think grandmamma might have told me about the boys being here. She used to tell me far littler things than that. And in a sort of a way I think I had a right to know. Windy Gap is my home.'

'It was all settled in a hurry,' said Kezia. 'The school broke up suddenly through some cases of fever, and poor Mr. Vandeleur was much put about to know where to send the young gentlemen. He couldn't have them in London, with Mrs. Vandeleur so ill, and your grandmamma was very glad to have the cottage free, and me here to do for them. No doubt she would have told you about it. I'm glad for your sake they are here. They'll be nice company for you.'

Her words brought home to me the actual state of things.

'Do you think grandmamma will let me stay here a little?' I said. 'I'm afraid she will not – and even if she would, Cousin Cosmo will be so angry, he'll prevent it. I am quite sure they will send me to school.'

'But what was the use of you coming here then, Miss Helena,' said Kezia, sensibly, 'if you knew you would be sent to school after all?'

'Oh,' I said,'I didn't think very much about anything except getting away. I – I thought grandmamma would just be glad to be rid of the trouble of me, and that they'd leave me here till Mrs. Vandeleur was better and grandmamma could come home again.'

Kezia did not answer at once. Then she said —

'Do you dislike London so very much, then, Miss Helena?'

'Oh no,' I replied. 'I was very happy alone with grandmamma, except for always thinking they were coming, and fancying she didn't – that she was beginning not to care for me. But – I am sorry now, Kezia, for not having trusted her.'

'That's right, my dear; and you'll show it by giving in cheerfully to whatever your dear grandmamma thinks best for you?'

I was still crying – but quite quietly.

'I'll – I'll try,' I whispered.

When I was dressed I went downstairs, not sorry to feel I should find the boys there. And in spite of the fears as to the future that were hanging over me I managed to spend a happy day with them. They did everything they could to cheer me up, and the more I saw of Harry the more I began to realise how very, very much brighter a life mine had been than his – how ungrateful I had been and how selfish. It was worse for him than for Lindsay, who was quite a child, and who looked to Harry for everything. And yet Harry made no complaints – he only said once or twice, when we were talking about grandmamma, that he did wish she was their grandmother, too.

'Wasn't that old lady you lived with before like a grandmother?' I asked.

Harry shook his head.

'We scarcely ever saw her,' he said. 'She was very old and ill, and even when we did go to her for the holidays we only saw her to say good-morning and good-night. On the whole we were glad to stay on at school.'

Poor fellows – they had indeed been orphans.

We wandered about the little garden, and all my old haunts. But for my terrible anxiety, I should have enjoyed it thoroughly.

'Harry,' I said, when we had had our dinner – a very nice dinner, by the bye. I began to think grandmamma must have got rich, for there was a feeling of prosperity about the cottage – fires in several rooms, and everything so comfortable. 'Harry, what do you think I should do? Should I write to grandmamma and tell her – that I am very sorry, and that – that I'll be good about going to school, if she fixes to send me?'

The tears came back again, but still I said it firmly.

'I think,' said Harry, 'you had better wait till to-morrow.'

He did not tell me of Mr. Vandeleur's telegram – for he had been desired not to do so. I should have been still more uneasy and nervous if I had known my formidable cousin was actually on his way to Middlemoor!

CHAPTER XV

'HAPPY EVER SINCE'

Later in the afternoon – about three o'clock or so – Harry looked at his watch and started up. We were sitting in the drawing-room talking quietly – Harry had been asking me about my lessons and finding out how far on I was, for I was a little tired still, and we had been running about a good deal in the morning.

'Oh,' I said, in a disappointed tone, 'where are you going? If you would wait a little while, I could come out with you again, I am sure.' For I felt as if I did not want to lose any of the time we were together, and of course I did not know how soon grandmamma might not send some one to take me away to school.

And never since Sharley and the others had gone away had I had the pleasure of companions of my own age. There was something about Harry which reminded me of Sharley, though he was a boy – something so strong and straightforward and big, no other word seems to say it so well.

Harry looked at me with a little smile. Dear Harry, I know now that he was feeling even more anxious about me than I was for myself, and that brave as he was, it took all his courage to do as he had determined – I mean to plead my cause with his stern guardian. For Mr. Vandeleur was almost as much a stranger to him as to me.

'I'm afraid I must,' he said, 'I have to go to Middlemoor, but I shall not be away more than an hour and a half. Lindsay – you'll look after Helena, and Helena will look after you and prevent you getting into mischief while I'm away.'

For though Lindsay was a very good little boy, and not wild or rough, he was rather unlucky. I never saw any one like him for tumbling and bumping himself and tearing his clothes.

After Harry had gone, Lindsay got out their stamp album and we amused ourselves with it very well for more than an hour, as there were a good many new stamps to put into their proper places. Then Kezia came in —

'Miss Helena,' she said, 'would you and Master Lindsay mind going into the other room? I want to tidy this one up a little, I was so long talking with you this morning that I dusted it rather hurriedly.'

We had made a litter, certainly, with the gum-pot and scraps of paper, and cold water for loosening the stamps, but we soon cleared it up.

'Isn't it nearly tea-time?' I said.

'Yes, you shall have it as soon as Master Harry comes in,' said Kezia, 'it is all laid in the dining-room.'

'Oh, well,' said Lindsay, 'we won't do any more stamps this afternoon; come along then, Helena, we'll tell each other stories for a change.'

'You may tell me stories,' I said – 'and I'll try to listen,' I added to myself, 'though I don't feel as if I could,' for as the day went on I felt myself growing more and more frightened and uneasy. 'I wish Harry would come in,' I said aloud, 'I think I should write to grandmamma to-day.'

'He won't be long,' said Lindsay, 'Harry always keeps to his time,' and then he began his stories. I'm afraid I don't remember what they were. There were a great many 'you see's' and 'and so's,' but at another time I daresay I would have found them interesting.

He was just in the middle of one, about a trick some of the boys had played an undermaster at their school, when I heard the front door open quietly and steps cross the hall. The steps were of more than one person, though no one was speaking.

'Stop, Lindsay,' I said, and I sat bolt up in my chair and listened.

Whoever it was had gone into the drawing-room. Then some one came out again and crossed to the kitchen.

'Can it be Harry?' I said.

'There's some one with him if it is,' said Lindsay.

I felt myself growing white, and Lindsay grew red with sympathy. He is a very feeling boy. But we both sat quite still. Then the door opened gently, and some one looked in, but it wasn't Harry, it was Kezia.

'Miss Helena, my love,' she said, 'there's some one in the drawing-room who wants to see you.'

'Who is it?' I asked, breathlessly, but my old nurse shook her head.

'You'll see,' she said.

My heart began to beat with the hope – a silly, wild hope it was, for of course I might have known she could not yet have left Cousin Agnes – that it might be grandmamma. And, luckily perhaps, for without it I should not have had courage to enter the drawing-room, this idea lasted till I had opened the door, and it was too late to run away.

How I did wish I could do so you will easily understand, when I tell you that the tall figure standing looking out of the window, which turned as I came in, was that of my stern Cousin Cosmo himself!

I must have got very white, I think, though it seemed to me as if all the blood in my body had rushed up into my head and was buzzing away there like lots and lots of bees, but I only remember saying 'Oh!' in a sort of agony of fear and shame. And the next thing I recollect was finding myself on a chair and Cousin Cosmo beside me on another, and, wonderful to say, he was holding my hand, which had grown dreadfully cold, in one of his. His grasp felt firm and protecting. I shut my eyes just for a moment and fancied to myself that it seemed as if papa were there.

'But it can't last,' I thought, 'he's going to be awfully angry with me in a minute.'

I did not speak. I sat there like a miserable little criminal, only judges don't generally hold prisoners' hands when they are going to sentence them to something very dreadful, do they? I might have thought of that, but I didn't. I just squeezed myself together to bear whatever was coming.

This was what came.

I heard a sort of sigh or a deep breath, and then a voice, which it almost seemed to me I had never heard before, said, very, very gently —

'My poor little girl – poor little Helena. Have I been such an ogre to you?'

I could scarcely believe my ears – to think that it was Cousin Cosmo speaking to me in that way! I looked up into his face; I had really never seen it very well before. And now I found out that the dark, deep-set eyes were soft and not stern – what I had taken for hardness and severity had, after all, been mostly sadness and anxiety, I think.

'Cousin Cosmo,' I said, 'are you going to forgive me, then? And grandmamma, too? I am sorry for running away, but I didn't understand properly. I will go to school whenever you like, and not grumble.'

My tears were dropping fast, but still I felt strangely soothed.

'Tell me more about it all,' said Mr. Vandeleur. 'I want to understand from yourself all about the fancies and mistakes there have been in your head.'

'Would you first tell me,' I said, 'how Cousin Agnes is? It was a good deal about her I didn't understand?'

'Much, much better,' he replied, 'thank God. She is going to be almost well again, I hope.'

And then, before I knew what I was about, I found myself in the middle of it all – telling him everything – the whole story of my unhappiness, more fully even than I had told it to Harry and Kezia, for though he did not say much, the few words he put in now and then showed me how wonderfully he understood. (Cousin Cosmo is a very clever man.)