Читать книгу A Very Naughty Girl - Meade L. T. - Страница 7

Again at luncheon that day Evelyn was missing. Lady Frances looked round: Audrey was in her place; Miss Sinclair was seated not far away; the Squire took the foot of the table; the servants handed round the different dishes; but still no Evelyn had put in an appearance.

“I wonder where she can be,” said the Squire. “She looked a little wild and upset when she left me. Poor little girl! Do you know, Frances, I feel very sorry for her.”

“More than I do,” said Lady Frances, who at the same time had an uncomfortable remembrance of the look Evelyn had given her when she had left her presence. “Don’t let us talk any more about her now, Edward,” she said to her husband. “There is only one thing to be done for the child, and that I will tell you by and by.”

The Squire was accustomed to attend to his wife’s wishes on all occasions, and he said nothing further. Audrey felt constrained and uncomfortable. After a slight hesitation she said:

“Do let me find Evelyn, mother. I have been expecting her to join me the whole morning. She does not, of course, know about our rules yet.”

“No, Audrey,” said her mother; “I prefer that you should not leave the table. – Miss Sinclair, perhaps you will oblige me. Will you go to Evelyn’s room and tell her that we are at lunch?”

Miss Sinclair rose at once. She was absent for about five minutes. When she came back there was a distressed look on her face.

“Well, Jenny, well?” said Audrey in a voice of suppressed excitement. “Is she coming?”

“I think not,” said Miss Sinclair. – “I will explain matters to you, Lady Frances, afterwards.”

“Dear, dear!” said the Squire. “What a lot of explanations seem to be necessary with regard to the conduct of one small girl!”

“But she is a very important small girl, is she not, father?” said Audrey.

“Well, yes, dear; and I should like to say now that I take an interest in her – in fact,” he added, looking round him, for the servants had withdrawn, “I am prepared to love little Eve very much indeed.”

Lady Frances’s eyes flashed a somewhat indignant fire. Then she said slowly:

“As you speak so frankly, Edward, I must do likewise. I never saw a more hopeless child. There seems to be nothing whatever for it but to send her to school for a couple of years.”

“No,” said the Squire, “I will not allow that. We never sent Audrey to school, and I will have no difference made with regard to Evelyn’s education. All that money can secure must be provided for her, but I do not care for school-life for girls.”

Lady Frances said nothing further. She was a woman with tact, and would not on any consideration oppose her husband in public. All the same, she secretly made up her mind that if Evelyn proved unmanageable she was not to stay at Wynford Castle.

“And there is another thing,” continued the Squire. “This is her first day in her future home. I do not wish her to be punished whatever she may have done. I should like her to have absolute freedom until to-morrow morning.”

“It shall be exactly as you wish, Edward,” said Lady Frances. “I did intend to seek Evelyn out; I did intend further to question Miss Sinclair as to the reason why Evelyn did not appear at lunch; but I will defer these things. It happens to be somewhat convenient, as I want to pay some calls this afternoon; and really, with that child on my brain, I should not enjoy my visits. You, Audrey dear, will see to your cousin’s comforts, and when she is inclined to give you her society you will be ready to welcome her. Your young friends will not arrive until just before dinner. Please, at least use your influence, Audrey, to prevent Evelyn making a too extraordinary appearance to-night. Now I think that is all, and I must run off if I am to be in time to receive my guests.”

Lady Frances left the room, and Audrey went to her governess’s side.

“What is it?” she said. “You did look strange, Jenny, when you came into the room just now. Where is Evelyn? Why did she not come to lunch?”

“It is the greatest possible mercy,” said Miss Sinclair, “that Evelyn is allowed to have one free day, for perhaps – although I feel by no means sure – you and I may influence her for her own good to-night. But what do you think has happened? I went to her room and knocked at the door of the boudoir. I heard voices within. The door was immediately opened by the maid Jasper, and I saw Evelyn seated at a table, eating a most extraordinary kind of lunch, in the company of a girl whom I have never seen before.”

“Oh Jenny,” cried Audrey, “how frightfully exciting! A strange girl! Surely Evelyn did not bring a stranger with her and hide her somewhere last night?”

“No, dear, no,” said Miss Sinclair, laughing; “she did nothing of that sort. I fancy the girl must live in the neighborhood, although her face is unfamiliar to me. She is rather a pretty girl, but by no means the sort that your mother would approve of as a companion for your cousin.”

“What is she like?” asked Audrey in a grave voice.

Miss Sinclair proceeded to describe Sylvia’s appearance. She was interrupted in the middle of her description by a cry from Audrey.

“Oh dear!” she exclaimed, “you must have seen that curious girl, Sylvia Leeson. Your description is exactly like her. Well, as this is a free day, and we can do pretty much what we like, I will run straight up to Evelyn’s room and look for myself.”

“Do Audrey; I think on the whole it would be the best plan.”

So Audrey ran up-stairs, and soon her tap was heard on Evelyn’s door; the next moment she found herself in the presence of a very untidy, disheveled-looking cousin, and also in that of handsome Sylvia Leeson.

Sylvia dropped a sort of mock courtesy when she saw Audrey.

“My Shakespearian contemporary!” was her remark. “Well, Audrey, and how goes the Forest of Arden? And have you yet met Touchstone?”

Audrey colored very high at what she considered a direct impertinence.

“What are you doing here?” she said. “My mother does not know your mother.”

Sylvia gave a ringing laugh.

“I met this lady,” she said – and she pointed in Evelyn’s direction – “and she invited me here. I have had lunch with her, and I am no longer hungry. This is her room, is it not?”

“I should just think it is,” said Evelyn; “and I only invite those people whom I care about to come into it.” She said the words in a very pointed way, but Audrey had now recovered both her dignity and good-nature.

She laughed.

“Really we three are too silly,” she said. “Evelyn, you cannot mean the ridiculous words you say! As if any room in my father’s house is not free to me when I choose to go there! Now, whether you like it or not, I am determined to be friends with you. I do not want to scold you or lecture you, for it is not my place, but I intend to sit down although you have not the civility to offer me a chair; and I intend to ask again why Miss Leeson is here.”

“I came because Evelyn asked me,” said Sylvia; and then, all of a sudden, an unexpected change came over her face. Her pretty, bright eyes, with a sort of robin-redbreast look in them, softened and melted, and then grew brighter than ever through tears. She went up to Audrey and knelt at her feet.

“Why should not I come? Why should not I be happy?” she said. “I am a very lonely girl; why should you grudge me a little happiness?”

Audrey looked at her in amazement; then a change came over her own face. She allowed her hand just for an instant to touch the hand of Sylvia, and her eyes looked into the wild eyes of the shabby girl who was kneeling before her.

“Get up,” she said. “You have no right to take that attitude to me. As you are here, sit down. I do not want to be rude to you; far from that. I should like to make you happy.”

“Should you really?” answered Sylvia. “You can do it, you know.”

“Sylvia,” interrupted Evelyn, “what does this mean? You and I have been talking in a very frank way about Audrey. We have neither of us been expressing any enthusiastic opinions with regard to her; and yet now – and yet now – ”

“Oh, let me be, Eve,” replied Sylvia. “I like Audrey. I liked her the other day. It is true I was afraid of her, and I was crushed by her, but I liked her; and I like her better now, and if she will be my friend I am quite determined to be hers.”

“Then you do not care for me?” said Evelyn, getting up and strutting across the room.

Sylvia looked at Audrey, whose eyes, however, would not smile, and whose face was once more cold and haughty.

“Evelyn,” she said, “I must ask you to try and remember that you are a lady, and not to talk in this way before anybody but me. I am your cousin, and when you are alone with me I give you leave to talk as you please. But now the question is this: I do not in the least care what Sylvia said of me behind my back. I hope I know better than to wish to find out what I was never meant to hear. This is a free country, and any girl in England can talk of me as she pleases – I am not afraid – that is, she can talk of me as she pleases when I am absent. But what I want to do now is to answer Sylvia’s question. She is unhappy, and she has thrown herself on me. – What can I do, Sylvia, to make you happy?”

Sylvia was standing huddled up against the wall. Her pretty shoulders were hitched to her ears; her hair was disheveled and fell partly over her forehead; her eyes gleamed out under their thick thatch of black hair like wild birds in a nest; her coral lips trembled, there was just a gleam of snowy teeth, and then she said impulsively:

“You are a darling, and you can do one thing. Let me for to-day forget that I am poor and hungry and very lonely and very sad. Let me share your love and Evelyn’s love for just one whole day.”

“But there are people coming to-night, Sylvia,” said Evelyn. “I heard Jasper speak of it. Lots of people – grandees, you know.”

Sylvia shuddered slightly.

“We never say that sort of word now in England,” she remarked; and she added: “I am well-born too. There was a time when I should not have been at all shy of Audrey Wynford.”

“You are very queer,” said Evelyn. “I do not know that I particularly want you for a friend.”

“Well, never mind; I think I can get you to love me,” said Sylvia. “But now the question is this: Will Audrey let me stay or will she not? Will you, Audrey – will you – just because my name is Sylvia and we have met in the Forest of Arden?”

“Oh dear,” said Audrey, “what a difficult question you ask! And how can I answer it? I dare not give you leave all by myself, but I will go and inquire.”

Audrey ran immediately out of the room.

“What a wonderful change has come into my life!” she said to herself as she flew down-stairs and looked into different rooms, but all in vain, for Miss Sinclair.

Her mother was out; it was hopeless to think of appealing to her. Without the permission of some one older than herself she could not possibly ask Sylvia to stay. Sylvia could be more or less lost in the crowd of children who would be at the Castle that evening, but her mother’s eyes would quickly seek out the unfamiliar face, inquiries would be made, and – in short, Audrey did not dare to take this responsibility on herself. She was rushing up-stairs again, prepared to tell Sylvia that she could not grant her request, when she came plump up against her father.

“My dear girl, what a hurry you are in!” he exclaimed.

“Oh yes, father,” replied Audrey. “I am excited. The house is full of life and almost mystery.”

“Then you like your cousin to be here?” said the Squire, and his face brightened.

“Yes and no,” answered Audrey truthfully. “But, father, I have a great request to make. You know you said that Evelyn was to have a free day to-day in which she could do as she pleased. She has a guest up-stairs whom she would like to ask to stay. May she ask her, father? She is a girl, and lonely and pretty, and, I think, on the whole, a lady. May we both ask her to dinner and to spend the evening? And will you, father, take the responsibility?”

“Of course – of course,” said the Squire.

“Will you explain to mother when she returns?”

“Yes, my dear – certainly. Ask anybody you please; I never restrain you with regard to your friends. Now do not keep me, my love; I am going out immediately.”