Читать книгу The Oriel Window - Molesworth Mrs. - Страница 2
CHAPTER II
THE PEACOCK'S CRY
ОглавлениеHalf an hour or so later the children met again, and together made their way downstairs to the dining-room, Ferdy carefully carrying his presents, which had been increased by that of a nice big home-made cake from cook, and a smart little riding-whip from two or three of the other servants.
Papa and mamma had not yet made their appearance; it was barely half-past eight.
Ferdy's eyes and Chrissie's too wandered inquiringly round the room. Neither knew or had any sort of idea what the present of the day – their parents' – was to be. Many wonderings had there been about it, for Mrs. Ross had smiled in a very mysterious way once or twice lately, when something had been said about Ferdy's birthday, and the children had half expected to see some veiled package on the sideboard or in a corner of the room, ready for the right moment.
But everything looked much as usual, except that there was a lovely bouquet of flowers – hot-house flowers, the gardener's best – beside Ferdy's plate.
"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, as he took it up and sniffed it approvingly, "what a good humour Ferguson must be in to have given me these very best flowers. Why, he doesn't even like mamma herself to cut these big begonias. They are splendiferous, aren't they, Chris? I shall take one out for a button-hole, and wear it all day. But oh, Chrissie, I do wonder what papa's and mamma's present is going to be – don't you?"
"I should just think I did," his sister replied. "I haven't the very least inch of an idea this time, and generally, before, I have had some. It isn't in this room, any way."
"No, I expect it's some little thing, something mamma has kept safe in a drawer, a pair of gold sleeve-links, or, or – no, not a writing-case, for she'd know about yours. P'r'aps a pocket microscope or some book."
"Would you like any of those?" asked Chrissie.
"I'd like anything, I think. At least I mean papa and mamma'd be sure to give me something nice. Of course, the present of presents would be – "
"We fixed not to speak about it, don't you remember?" said his sister quickly. "It's a bad habit to get into, that of fancying too much about impossible things you'd like to have."
"But this wouldn't be quite an impossible thing," said Ferdy. "I may get it some day, and one reason I want it so is that it would be just as nice for you as for me, you see, Chris."
"I know," said Christine. "Well no, it's not a couldn't-possibly-ever-be thing, like the magic carpet we planned so about once, or the table with lovely things to eat on it, that there's the fairy story about, though I always think that's rather a greedy sort of story – don't you?"
"Not if you were awfully hungry, and the boy in that story was, you know," said Ferdy. "But I didn't mean quite impossible in a fairy magic way. I mean that papa and mamma might do it some day, and it's rather been put into my head this morning by this," and he touched the riding-whip. "It's far too good for Jerry, or for any donkey, isn't it? I shall put it away till I have a – "
Chrissie placed her hand on his mouth.
"Don't say it," she said. "It's much better not, after we fixed we wouldn't."
"Very well," said Ferdy resignedly. "I won't if you'd rather I didn't. Now let us think over what it really will be, most likely. A – "
But no other guess was to be put in words, for just then came the well-known voices.
"Ferdy, my boy" – "Dear little man," as his father and mother came in. "Many, many happy returns of your birthday," they both said together, stooping to kiss him.
"And see what Chrissie has given me, and Flowers, and cook, and the others!" exclaimed the boy, holding out his gifts for admiration.
Mr. and Mrs. Ross looked at each other and smiled. Neither of them had anything in the shape of a parcel big or little. Ferdy and Christine felt more and more puzzled.
"They are charming presents, dear," said Mrs. Ross, "and ours – papa's and mine – is quite ready. How are you going to do about it, Walter?"
"We had better have prayers first," Ferdy's father replied. "And – yes, breakfast too, I think, and then – "
In their own minds both Ferdy and Christine thought they would not be able to eat much breakfast while on the tenter-hooks of curiosity. But kind as their father was, he had a way of meaning what he said, and they had learned not to make objections. And, after all, they did manage to get through a very respectable meal, partly perhaps because the breakfast was particularly tempting that morning, and mamma was particularly anxious that the children should do justice to it.
Nice as it was, however, it came to an end in due time, and then, though they said nothing, the children's faces showed what was in their minds, Chrissie looking nearly as eager as her brother.
"Now," said Mr. Ross, taking out his watch, "I have just half an hour before I must start. Leila," – "Leila" was mamma's "girl name" as Chrissie called it, – "Leila, you keep these two young people quietly in here for five minutes by the clock. Then all three of you come round to the porch, but Ferdy must shut his eyes – tight, do you hear, young man? Mother and Chrissie will lead you, and I will meet you at the front door."
Did ever five minutes pass so slowly? More than once the children thought that the clock must really have stopped, or that something extraordinary had happened to its hands, in spite of the ticking going on all right. But at last —
"We may go now," said mamma. "Shut your eyes, my boy. Now, Chris, you take one hand and I'll take the other. You won't open your eyes till papa tells you, will you, Ferdy?"
"No, no, I promise," said Ferdy.
But his mother looked at him a little anxiously. His little face was pale with excitement and his breath came fast. Yet he was not at all a delicate child, and he had never been ill in his life.
"Dear Ferdy," she said gently, "don't work yourself up so."
Ferdy smiled.
"No, mamma," he replied, though his voice trembled a little. "It is only – something we've tried not to think about, haven't we, Chrissie? Oh," he went on, turning to his sister, and speaking almost in a whisper, "do you think it can be – you know what?"
Christine squeezed the hand she held; that was all she could reply. Though her face had got pink instead of pale like Ferdy's, she was almost as "worked up" as he was.
There was not long to wait, however. Another moment and they were all three standing in the porch, and though Ferdy's eyes were still most tightly and honourably shut, there scarcely needed papa's "Now," or the "Oh!" which in spite of herself escaped his sister, to reveal the delightful secret. For his ears had caught certain tell-tale sounds: a sort of "champing," and a rustle or scraping of the gravel on the drive which fitted in wonderfully with the idea which his brain was full of, though he had honestly tried to follow his sister's advice and not "think about it."
What was the "it"?
A pony – the most beautiful pony, or so he seemed to Ferdy and Christine at any rate – that ever was seen. There he stood, his bright brown coat gleaming in the May sunshine, his eager but kindly eyes looking as if they took it all in as he rubbed his nose on Mr. Ross's coat-sleeve and twisted about a little, as if impatient to be introduced to his new master.
"Papa, mamma!" gasped Ferdy, with a sort of choke in his throat, and for a moment – what with the delight, and the sudden opening of his eyes in the strong clear sunshine – he felt half dazed. "Papa, mamma, a pony of my very own! And Chrissie can ride him too. He is a pony a girl can ride too, isn't he?" with a touch of anxiety.
"He is very gentle, and he has no vices at all," said his father. "I am quite sure Chrissie will be able to ride him too. But you must get to know him well in the first place."
Ferdy was out on the drive by this time, his face rosy with delight, as he stood by his father patting and petting the pretty creature. The pony was all saddled and bridled, ready for Ferdy to mount and ride "over the hills and far away." The boy glanced up at Mr. Ross, an unspoken request trembling on his lips.
"Yes," said his father, seeing it there and smiling. "Yes, you may mount him and ride up and down a little. He'll be all right," he added, turning to the coachman, who had been standing by and enjoying the whole as much as any of them.
"Oh yes, sir. He's a bit eager, but as gentle as a lamb," the man replied.
"And this afternoon," Ferdy's father continued, "if I can get home between four and five, I'll take you a good long ride – round by Durnham and past by Mellway Sight, where you have so often wanted to go."
"Oh, papa," was all Ferdy could get out.
Merton meanwhile had been examining the stirrup straps.
"They're about the right length for you, I think, sir," he said, and then in a moment Ferdy was mounted.
Pony pranced about a little, just a very little, – he would not have seemed a real live pony if he had not, – but nothing to mind. Indeed, Ferdy, to tell the truth, would have enjoyed a little more. The coachman led him a short way along the drive, but then let go, and Ferdy trotted to the gates in grand style and back again.
"Isn't he perfect, Chris?" he exclaimed as he came up to the group in front of the porch. "Mayn't I gallop him, papa, this afternoon when we go out? Round by Mellway there's beautiful grass, you know."
"All right," Mr. Ross replied. "We shall see how you get on outside on the road. I don't know that he has any tricks, but every pony has some fad, so for a few days we must just be a little cautious. Now trot back to the gates once more, and then I think you had better dismount for the present. You may go round to the stable with him. It's always a good thing for your horse to know you in the stable as well as outside."
Off Ferdy went again, a little bit faster this time, his spirits rising higher and higher. Then he turned to come back to the house, and his mother was just stepping indoors, her face still lighted up with pleasure, when there came a sudden cry, – a curious hoarse cry, – but for a moment she was not startled.
"It is the peacocks," she thought, for there were a couple of beautiful peacocks at the Watch House. "I hope they won't frighten the pony."
For the peacocks were allowed to stalk all about the grounds, and they were well-behaved on the whole; though, as is always the case with these birds, their harsh cry was not pleasant, and even startling to those not accustomed to it.
Was it the cry, or was it the sudden sight of them as they came all at once into view on a side-path which met the drive just where Ferdy was passing?
Nobody ever knew, – probably pony himself could not have told which it was, – but as Mrs. Ross instinctively stopped a moment on her way into the house, another sound seemed to mingle with the peacock's scream, or rather to grow out from it – a sort of stifled shriek of terror and rushing alarm. Then came voices, trampling feet, a kind of wail from Chrissie, and in an instant – an instant that seemed a lifetime – Ferdy's mother saw what it was. He had been thrown, and one foot had caught in the stirrup, and the startled pony was dragging him along. A moment or two of sickening horror, then a sort of silence. One of the men was holding the pony, Mr. Ross and the coachman were stooping over something that lay on the ground a little way up the drive – something – what was it? It did not move. Was it only a heap of clothes that had dropped there somehow? It couldn't, oh no, it couldn't be Ferdy! Ferdy was alive and well. He had just been laughing and shouting in his exceeding happiness. Where had he run to?
"Ferdy, Ferdy!" his mother exclaimed, scarcely knowing that she spoke; "Ferdy dear, come quick, come, Ferdy."
But Chrissie caught her, and buried her own terror-stricken face in her mother's skirts.
"Mamma, mamma," she moaned, "don't look like that. Mamma, don't you see? Ferdy's killed. That's Ferdy where papa is. Don't go, oh don't go, mamma! Mamma, I can't bear it. Hide me, hide my eyes."
And at this frantic appeal from the poor little half-maddened sister, Mrs. Ross's strength and sense came back to her as if by magic. She unclasped Chrissie's clutching hands gently but firmly.
"Run upstairs and call Flowers. Tell her to lay a mattress on the floor of the oriel room at once; it is such a little way upstairs; and tell Burt to bring some brandy at once – brandy and water. Tell Burt first."
Chrissie was gone in an instant. Ferdy couldn't be dead, she thought, if mamma wanted brandy for him. But when the mother, nerved by love, flew along the drive to the spot where her husband and the coachman were still bending over what still was, or had been, her Ferdy, she could scarcely keep back a scream of anguish. For a moment she was sure that Chrissie's first words were true – he was killed.
"Walter, Walter, tell me quick," she gasped. "Is he – is he alive?"
Mr. Ross looked up, his own face so deadly pale, his lips so drawn and quivering, that a rush of pity for him came over her.
"I – I don't know. I can't tell. What do you – think, Merton?" he said, in a strange dazed voice. "He has not moved, but we thought he was breathing at first."
The coachman lifted his usually ruddy face; it seemed all streaked, red and white in patches.
"I can feel his heart, sir; I feel fairly sure I can feel his heart. If we could get a drop or two of brandy down his throat, and – yes, I think I can slip my arm under his head. There's Burt coming with some water."
"And brandy," said Mrs. Ross. "Here, give it me – a spoon – yes, that's right. And, Walter, have you sent for the doctor?"
Mr. Ross passed his hand over his forehead, as if trying to collect himself.
"I will send Larkins now," he said, "on the pony – that will be the quickest," though a sort of shudder passed over him as he spoke of the innocent cause of this misery. "Larkins, go at once for Mr. Stern; you know the shortest way," for there was no doctor within a mile or two of Evercombe village, and Mr. Ross raised himself to give exact directions to the young groom.
When he turned again they had succeeded in getting a spoonful of brandy and water between Ferdy's closed lips – then another; then poor old Merton looked up with a gleam of hope in his eyes.
"He's coming to, sir – ma'am – I do believe," he said.
He was right. A quiver ran through the little frame, then came the sound of a deep sigh, and Ferdy's eyes opened slowly. They opened and – it was like Ferdy – the first sign he gave of returning consciousness was a smile – a very sweet smile.
"Papa, mamma," he whispered, "is it time to get up? Is it – my birthday?"
That was too much for his mother. The tears she had been keeping back rushed to her eyes, but they were partly tears of joy. Her boy was alive; at worst he was not killed, and perhaps, oh perhaps, he was not badly hurt.
Ferdy caught sight of her tears, though she had turned her face away in hopes of hiding them. A pained, puzzled look came over him. He tried to raise his head, which was resting on Merton's arm, but it sank down again weakly; then he glanced at his left arm and hand, which were covered with blood from a cut on his forehead.
"What is the – mamma, why are you crying?" he said. "Have I hurt myself? Oh dear, did I fall off my beautiful pony? I am so, so sorry."
"My darling," said his mother, "it was an accident. I hope you will soon be better. Have you any pain anywhere?"
"I don't think so," said he, "only I wish I was in bed, mamma. What is it that is bleeding?"
"Nothing very bad, sir," said Merton cheerfully; "only a cut on your forehead. But that'll soon heal. Your handkerchief, please, ma'am, dipped in cold water."
"Yes," said Mr. Ross, "that is the best thing for the moment," and he folded the handkerchief up into a little pad, which he soaked in the fresh cold water, and laid it on the place. "I think we must move him," he went on. "Ferdy, my boy, will you let us try?"
Ferdy stretched out his right arm and put it round his father's neck. But the movement hurt somehow and somewhere, for he grew terribly white again.
"My back," he whispered.
A thrill of new anguish went through his parents at the words.
"Don't do anything yourself," said Mr. Ross; "lie quite still and trust to me."
Ferdy closed his eyes without speaking, and skilfully, though with infinite pains, his father raised him in his arms, Ferdy making no sound – perhaps he half fainted again; there he lay quite helpless, like a little baby, as with slow, careful tread Mr. Ross made his way to the house, from which, not a quarter of an hour ago, the boy had flown out in perfect health and joy.
At the door they met Chrissie. She started violently, then covered her face with her hands.
"Oh, papa," she began, but her mother was close behind and caught her in her arms.
"Hush, dear," she said. "No, no," in answer to the little girl's unuttered question. "Ferdy has opened his eyes and spoken to us; he knew us – papa and me."
Chrissie's terrors at once made place for hope. Her white face flushed all over.
"He's spoken to you, mamma? What did he say? Oh, then he can't be so very badly hurt. Oh, mamma, how glad I am!"
"Be very, very quiet, dear. We can do nothing, and be sure of nothing, till the doctor comes, but – oh yes, thank God, we may hope."
But by the time they had laid him on the mattress in the oriel room Ferdy looked again so ghastly pale that the poor mother's heart went down. There was little they could do; they scarcely dared to undress him till the surgeon came. It was a terrible hour or two's waiting, for Mr. Stern was out, and Larkins had to ride some considerable way before he caught him up on his morning rounds.