About Peggy Saville
Page 23
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
A NIGHT OF TERROR.
While the young folks had been enjoying themselves in the ballroom,their elders had found the time hang somewhat heavily on their hands.The evening had not been so interesting to them as to their juniors.Lady Darcy was tired with the preparations of the day, and the countesswith her journey from town. Both were fain to yawn behind their fansfrom time to time, and were longing for the moment to come when theycould retire to bed. If only those indefatigable children would saygood-night and take themselves off! But the echo of the piano stillsounded from the room, and seemed to go on and on, in endlessrepetition.
Everything comes to those who wait, however--even the conclusion of aball to the weary chaperon. At long past midnight the strains diedaway, and in the hope of an early release the ladies roused themselvesto fresh conversational effort. What they said was unimportant, andcould never be remembered; but at one moment, as it seemed, they weresmiling and exchanging their little commonplace amenities, two languid,fine ladies whose aim in life might have been to disguise their ownfeelings and hide the hearts that God had given them; the next theartificial smiles were wiped away, and they were clinging together, twoterrified, cowering women, with a mother's soul in their faces--amother's love and fear and dread! A piercing cry had sounded throughthe stillness, and another, and another, and, while they sat paralysedwith fear, footsteps came tearing along the passage, the door was burstopen, and a wild, dishevelled-looking figure rushed into the room. Acurtain was wound round face and figure, but beneath its folds a longwhite arm gripped convulsively at the air, and two little feet staggeredabout in pink silk slippers.
Lady Darcy gave a cry of anguish; but her terror seemed to hold herrooted to the spot, and it was her husband who darted forward and caughtthe swaying figure in his arms. The heavy wrappings came loose in hisgrasp, and as they did so an unmistakable smell pervaded the room--thesmell of singed and burning clothing. A cloud of blackened ragsfluttered to the ground as the last fold of the curtain was unloosed,and among them--most pitiful sight of all--were stray gleams of goldwhere a severed lock of hair lay on the carpet, its end still turned inglistening curl.
"Rosalind! Rosalind!" gasped the poor mother, clutching the arms of herchair, and looking as if she were about to faint herself, as she gazedupon the pitiful figure of her child. The lower portion of Rosalind'sdress was practically uninjured, but the gauze skirt and all the frillsand puffing round the neck hung in tatters, her hair was singed androughened, and as the air touched her skin she screamed with pain, andheld her hands up to her neck and face.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! I am burning! Cover me up! Cover me up! I shall die!Oh, mother, mother! The pain--the pain!"
She reeled as if about to faint, yet if anyone attempted to approach shebeat them off with frantic hands, as if in terror of being touched.
One of the ladies ran forward with a shawl, and wrapped it forciblyround the poor scarred shoulders, while the gentlemen hurried out of theroom to send for a doctor and make necessary arrangements. One of thenumber came back almost immediately, with the news that he had failed todiscover the cause of the accident. There was no sign of fire upstairs,the ballroom was dark and deserted, the servants engaged in setting theentertaining rooms in order. For the present, at least, the cause ofthe accident remained a mystery, and the distracted father and motheroccupied themselves in trying to pacify their child.
"I'll carry you upstairs, my darling. We will put something on yourskin which will take away the pain. Try to be quiet, and tell us how ithappened. What were you doing to set yourself on fire?"
"Peggy! Peggy!" gasped Rosalind faintly. Her strength was failing bythis time, and she could hardly speak; but Lady Darcy's face stiffenedinto an awful anger at the sound of that name. She turned like atigress to her husband, her face quivering with anger.
"That girl again! That wicked girl! It is the second time to-night!She has killed the child; but she shall be punished! I'll have herpunished! She shall not kill my child, and go free! I'll--I'll--"
"Hush, hush, Beatrice! Take care! You frighten Rosalind. We must gether to bed. There is not a moment to lose."
Lord Darcy beckoned to one of the servants, who by this time werecrowding in at the door, and between them they lifted poor, groaningRosalind in their arms, and carried her up the staircase, down which shehad tripped so gaily a few hours before. Tenderly as they held her, shemoaned with every movement, and, when she was laid on her bed, it seemedfor a moment as if consciousness were about to forsake her. Thensuddenly a light sprung into her eyes. She lifted her hand and gaspedout one word--just one word--repeated over and over again in a tone ofagonised entreaty.
"Peggy! Peggy! Peggy!"
"Yes, darling, yes! I'll go to her. Be quiet--only be quiet!"
Lady Darcy turned away with a shudder as the maid and an old familyservant began the task of removing the clothes from Rosalind's writhinglimbs, and, seizing her husband by the arm, drew him out on the landing.Her face was white, but her eyes gleamed, and the words hissed as theyfell from her lips.
"Find that girl, and turn her out of this house! I will not have herhere another hour! Do you hear--not a minute! Send her away at oncebefore I see her! Don't let me see her! I can't be responsible forwhat I would do!"
"Yes, yes, dear, I'll send her away! Try to calm yourself. Rememberyou have work to do Rosalind will need you."
The poor old lord went stooping away, his tired face looking aged andhaggard with anxiety. His beautiful young daughter was scarcely lessdear to him than to her mother, and the sound of her cries cut to hisheart; yet in the midst of his anguish he had a pang of compassion forthe poor child who, as he believed, was the thoughtless cause of theaccident. What agony of remorse must be hers! What torture she wouldnow be suffering!
The guests and servants were standing huddled together on the landingupstairs, or running to and fro to procure what was needed. Everythought was concentrated on Rosalind, and Rosalind alone, and the partof the house where the dance had been held was absolutely deserted.
He took his way along the gaily decorated hall, noted with absent eyethe disordered condition of the "harem," which had been pointed out soproudly at the beginning of the evening, and entered the empty room.The lights were out, except for a few candles scattered here and thereamong the flowers. He walked slowly forward, saw the silver candlestickon the floor before the fireplace, and stood gazing at it with a quickappreciation of what had happened. For some reason or other Rosalindhad tried to reach the candle, and the light had caught her gauzy skirt,which had burst into flames. It was easy--terribly easy to imagine; butin what way had Peggy Saville been responsible for the accident, so thather name should sound so persistently on Rosalind's lips,--and who hadbeen the Good Samaritan who had come to the rescue with that thickcurtain which had killed the flames before they had time to finish thework of destruction?
Lord Darcy peered curiously round. The oak floor stretched before himdark and still, save where its polished surface reflected the lightoverhead; but surely in the corner opposite to where he stood there wasa darker mass--a shadow deeper than the rest?
He walked towards it, bending forward with straining eyes. Anothercurtain of the same pattern as that which had enveloped Rosalind--acurtain of rich Oriental hues with an unaccountable patch of white inthe centre. What was it? It must be part of the fabric itself. LordDarcy told himself that he had no doubt on the subject, yet the wayacross the room seemed unaccountably long, and his heart beat fast withapprehension. In another moment he stood in the corner, and knew toowell the meaning of that patch of white, for Peggy Saville lay stretchedupon the curtain, motionless, unconscious--to all appearance, dead!