A Very Naughty Girl

by L. T. Meade

  CHAPTER XXX.--THE LOADED GUN.

  Now, it so happened that the fuss and confusion incident on Evelyn'sdeparture had penetrated to every individual in the Castle with theexception of the Squire; but the Squire had been absent all day onbusiness. He had been attending a very important meeting in aneighboring town, and, as his custom was, told his wife that he shouldprobably not return until the early morning. When this was the case thedoor opening into his private apartments was left on the latch. He couldhimself open it with his latch-key and let himself in, go to bed in asmall room prepared for the purpose, and not disturb the rest of thefamily. Lady Frances had many times during the previous evening lamentedher husband's absence, but when twelve o'clock came and the police whohad been sent to search for Evelyn could nowhere find the little girl,and when the different servants had searched the house in vain, and allthat one woman could think of had been done, Lady Frances, feelinguncomfortable, but also convinced in her own mind that Evelyn and Jasperwere quite safe and snug somewhere, resolved to go to bed.

  "It is no use, Audrey," she said to her daughter; "you have criedyourself out of recognition. My dear child, you must go to bed now, andto sleep. That naughty, naughty girl is not worth our all being ill."

  "But, oh, mother! what has happened to her?"

  "She is with Jasper, of course."

  "But suppose she is not, mother?"

  "I do not suppose what is not the case, Audrey. She is beyond doubt withthat pernicious woman, and as far as I am concerned I wash my hands ofher."

  "And--the disgrace to-morrow?" said poor Audrey.

  "My darling, you at least shall not be subjected to it. If I could findEvelyn I would take her myself to the school, and make her stand upbefore the scholars and tell them all that she had done; or if sherefused I would tell for her. But as she is not here you are not goingto be disgraced, my precious. I shall write a line to Miss Hendersontelling her that the guilty party has flown, and that you are far toodistressed to go to school; and I shall beg her to take any steps shethinks best. Really and truly that girl has made the place too hot tolive in; I shall ask your father to take us abroad for the winter."

  "But surely, mother, you will not allow poor little Evelyn to get quitelost; you will try to find her?"

  "Oh, my dear! have I not been trying? Do not say any more to me abouther to-night. I am really so irritated that I may say something I shallbe sorry for afterwards."

  So Audrey went to bed, and being young, she soon dropped asleep. LadyFrances, being dead tired, also slept; and the Squire, who knew nothingof all the fuss and trouble, came in at an early hour in the morning.

  He lay down to sleep, and awoke after a short slumber. He then got up,dressed, and went into his grounds.

  Lady Frances and Audrey were at breakfast--Lady Frances very pale, andAudrey with traces of her violent weeping the night before still on herface--when a servant burst in great terror and excitement into the room.

  "Oh, your ladyship," he exclaimed, "the Squire is lying in the copsebadly shot with his own gun! One of the grooms is with him, and Joneshas gone for the doctor, and I came at once to tell your ladyship."

  Poor Lady Frances in her agony scarcely knew what she was doing. Audreyasked a frenzied question, and soon the two were bending over thestricken man. The Squire was shot badly in the side. A new fowling-piecelay a yard or two away.

  "How did it happen?" said Lady Frances. "What can it mean?"

  Audrey knelt by her father, took his icy-cold hand in hers, and held itto her lips. Was he dead?

  As he lay there the young girl for the first time in all her lifelearned how passionately, how dearly she loved him. What would life bewithout him? In some ways she was nearer to her mother than to herfather, but just now, as he lay looking like death itself, he was all inall to her.

  "Oh, when will the doctor come?" said Lady Frances, raising her haggardface. "Oh, he is bleeding to death--he is bleeding to death!"

  With all her knowledge--and it was considerable--with all hercommon-sense, on which she prided herself, Lady Frances knew very littleabout illness and still less about wounds. She did not know how to stopthe bleeding, and it was well the doctor, a bright-faced young man fromthe neighboring village, was soon on the spot. He examined the wounds,looked at the gun, did what was necessary to stop the immediatebleeding, and soon the Squire was carried on a hastily improvised litterback to his stately home.

  An hour ago in the prime of life, in the prime of strength; now, for allhis terrified wife and daughter could know, he was already in the shadowof death.

  "Will he die, doctor?" asked Audrey.

  The young doctor looked at her pitifully.

  "I cannot tell," he replied; "it depends upon how far the bullet haspenetrated. It is unfortunate that he should have been shot in such adangerous part of the body. How did it happen?"

  A groom now came up and told a hasty tale.

  "The Squire called me this morning," he said, "and told me to go intohis study and bring him out his new fowling-piece, which had been sentfrom London a few days ago. I brought it just as it was. He took itwithout noticing it much. I was about to turn round and say to him, 'Itis at full cock--perhaps you don't know, sir,' but I thought, of course,he had loaded it and prepared it himself; and the next minute he wasclimbing a hedge. I heard a report, and he was lying just where youfound him."

  The question which immediately followed this recital was, "Who hadloaded the gun?"

  Another doctor was summoned, and another telegraphed for from London,and great was the agitation and misery. By and by Audrey found herselfalone. She could scarcely understand her own sensations. In the firstplace, she was absolutely useless. Her mother was absorbed in thesickroom; the servants were all occupied--even Read was engaged astemporary nurse until a trained one should arrive. Poor Audrey put onher hat and went out.

  "If only my dear Miss Sinclair were here!" she thought. "Even if Evelynwere here it would be better than nothing. Oh, no wonder we quite forgetEvelyn in a time of anguish like the present!"

  Then a fearful thought stabbed her to the heart.

  "If anything happens----" She could not get her lips to form the word shereally thought of. Once again she used the conventional phrase:

  "If anything happens, Evelyn will be mistress here."

  She looked wildly around her.

  "Oh! I must find some one; I must speak to some one," she thought. "Iwill go to Sylvia; it is no great distance to The Priory. I will go overthere at once."

  She walked quickly. She was glad of the exercise--of any excuse to keepmoving. She soon reached The Priory, and was just about to put her handon the latch to open the big gates when a girl appeared on the otherside--a girl with a white face, somewhat sullen in outline, with bigbrown eyes, and a quantity of fair hair falling over her shoulders. Evenin the midst of her agitation Audrey gave a gasp.

  "Evelyn!" she said.

  "I am not going with you," said Evelyn. She backed away, and a look ofapprehension crossed her face. "Why have you come here? You never cometo The Priory. What are you doing here? Go away. You need not think youwill have anything to do with me in the future. I know it is all up withme. I suppose you have come from the school to--to torture me!"

  "Don't, Evelyn--don't," said Audrey. "Oh, the misery you caused us lastnight! But that is nothing to what has happened now. Listen, and forgetyourself for a minute."

  Poor Audrey tottered forward; her composure gave way. The next momenther head was on her cousin's shoulder; she was sobbing as if her heartwould break.

  "Why, how strange you are!" said Evelyn, distressed and slightlysoftened, but, all the same, much annoyed at what she believed wouldfrustrate all her plans. For things had been going so well! The poor,silly old man who lived at The Priory was too ill to take any notice.She and Sylvia could do as they pleased. Jasper was Mr. Leeson's nurse.Mr. Leeson was delirious and talking wild nonsense. Evelyn was in ascene of excitement; she was petted and made much of. Why did Audreyc
ome to remind her of that world from which she had fled?

  "I suppose it was rather bad this morning at school," she said. "I canimagine what a fuss they kicked up--what a shindy--all about nothing! Butthere! yes, of course, I do not mind saying now that I did do it. I wassorry afterwards; I would not have done it if I had known--if I hadguessed that everybody would be so terribly miserable. But you do notsuppose--you do not suppose, Audrey, that I, who am to be the owner ofCastle Wynford some day----"

  But at these words Audrey gave a piercing cry:

  "Some day! Oh, Evelyn, it may be to-day!"

  "What do you mean?" said Evelyn, her face turning very white. She pushedAudrey, who was a good deal taller than her cousin, away and looked upat her. Audrey had now ceased crying; she wiped the tears from hercheeks.

  "I must tell you," she said. "It is my father. He shot himself byaccident this morning. His new gun from London was loaded. I suppose hedid not know it; anyhow, he knocked the gun against something and itwent off, and--he is at death's door."

  "What--do--you say?" asked Evelyn.

  A complete change had come over her. Her eyes looked dim and yet wild.She took Audrey by the arm and shook her.

  "The gun from London loaded, and it went off, and---- Is he hurtmuch--much? Speak, Audrey--speak!"

  She took her cousin now and shook her frantically.

  "Speak!" she said. "You are driving me mad!"

  "What is the matter with you, Evelyn?"

  "Speak! Is he--hurt--much?"

  "Much!" said Audrey. "The doctor does not know whether he will everrecover. Oh, what have I done to you?"

  "Nothing," said Evelyn. "Get out of my way."

  Like a wild creature she darted from her cousin, and, fast and fleet asher feet could carry her, rushed back to Castle Wynford.

  It took a good deal to touch a heart like Evelyn's, but it was touchedat last; nay, more, it was wounded; it was struck with a blow so deep,so sudden, so appalling, that the bewildered child reeled as she ran.Her eyes grew dark with emotion. She was past tears; she was almost pastwords. By and by, breathless, scared, bewildered, carried completely outof herself, she entered the Castle. There was no one about, but adoctor's brougham stood before the principal entrance. Evelyn lookedwildly around her. She knew her uncle's room. She ran up-stairs. Withoutwaiting for any one to answer, she burst open the door. The room wasempty.

  "He must be very badly hurt," she whispered to herself. "He must be inhis little room on the ground floor."

  She went down-stairs again. She ran down the corridor where often, whenin her best moments, she had gone to talk to him, to pet him, to lovehim. She entered the sitting-room where the gun had been. A greatshudder passed through her frame as she saw the empty case. She wentstraight through the sitting-room, and, unannounced, undesired,unwished-for, entered the bedroom.

  There were doctors round the bed; Lady Frances was standing by the head;and a man was lying there, very still and quiet, with his eyes shut anda peaceful smile on his face.

  "He is dead," thought Evelyn--"he is dead!" She gave a gasp, and the nextinstant lay in an unconscious heap on the floor.

  When the unhappy child came to herself she was lying on a sofa in thesitting-room. A doctor was bending over her.

  "Now you are better," he said. "You did very wrong to come into thebedroom. You must lie still; you must not make a fuss."

  "I remember everything," said Evelyn. "It was I who did it. It was I whokilled him. Don't--don't keep me. I must sit up; I must speak. Will hedie? If he dies I shall have killed him. You understand, I--I shall havedone it!"

  The doctor looked disturbed and distressed. Was this poor little girlmad? Who was she? He had heard of an heiress from Australia: could thisbe the child? But surely her brain had given way under the extremepressure and shock!

  "Lie still, my dear," he said gently; and he put his hand on the excitedchild's forehead.

  "I will be good if you will help me," said the girl; and she took bothhis hands in hers and raised her burning eyes to his face.

  "I will do anything in my power."

  "Don't you see what it means to me?--and I must be with him. Is he dead?"

  "No, no."

  "Is he in great danger?"

  "I will tell you, if you are good, after the doctor from London comes."

  "But I did it."

  "Excuse me, miss--I do not know your name--you are talking nonsense."

  "Let me explain. Oh! there never was such a wicked girl; I do not mindsaying it now. I loaded the gun just to show him that I could shoot abird on the wing, and--and I forgot all about it; I forgot I had left thegun loaded. Oh, how can I ever forgive myself?"

  The doctor asked her a few more questions. He tried to soothe her. Hethen said if she would stay where she was he would bring her the veryfirst news from the London doctor. The case was not hopeless, he assuredher; but there was danger--grave danger--and any shock would bring onhemorrhage, and hemorrhage would be fatal.

  The little girl listened to him, and as she listened a new and wonderfulstrength was given to her. At that instant Evelyn Wynford ceased to be achild. She was never a child any more. The suffering and the shock hadbeen too mighty; they had done for her what perhaps nothing else couldever do--they had awakened her slumbering soul.

  How she lived through the remainder of that day she could never tell toany one. No one saw her in the Squire's sitting-room. No one wanted theroom; no one went near it. Audrey was back again at the Castle,comforting her mother and trying to help her. When she spoke of Evelyn,Lady Frances shuddered.

  "Don't mention her," she said. "She had the impertinence to rush intothe room; but she also had the grace to----"

  "What, mother?"

  "She was really fond of her uncle, Audrey; I always said so. Shefainted--poor, miserable girl--when she saw the state he was in."

  But Lady Frances did not know of Evelyn's confession to the youngdoctor; nor did Dr. Watson tell any one.

  It was late and the day had passed into night when the doctor came inand sat down by Evelyn's side.

  "Now," he said, "you have been good, and have kept your word, and haveobliterated yourself."

  She did not ask him the meaning of the word, although she did notunderstand it. She looked at him with the most pathetic face he had everseen.

  "Speak," she said. "Will he live?"

  "Dr. Harland thinks so, and he is the very best authority in the world.He hopes in a day or two to remove the pellets which have done themischief. The danger, as I have already told you, lies in renewedhemorrhage; but that I hope we can prevent. Now, are you going to be avery good girl?"

  "What can I do?" asked Evelyn. "Can I go to him and stay with him?"

  "I wonder," said the doctor--"and yet," he added, "I scarcely like topropose it. There is a nurse there; your aunt is worn out. I will seewhat I can do."

  "If I could do that it would save me," said Evelyn. "There never, neverhas been quite such a naughty girl; and I--I did it--oh! not meaning tohurt him, but I did it. Oh! it would save me if I might sit by him."

  "I will see," said the doctor.

  He felt strangely interested in this queer, erratic, lost-looking child.He went back again to the sickroom. The Squire was conscious. He waslying in comparative ease on his bed; a trained nurse was within reach.

  "Nurse," said the doctor.

  The woman went with him across the room.

  "I am going to stay here to-night."

  "Yes, sir; I am glad to hear it."

  "It is quite understood that Lady Frances is to have her night's rest?"

  "Her ladyship is quite worn out, sir. She has gone away to her room. Shewill rest until two in the morning, when she will come down-stairs andhelp me to watch by the patient."

  "Then I will sit with him until two o'clock," said the doctor. "At twoo'clock I will lie down in the Squire's sitting-room, where I can bewithin call. Now, I want to make a request."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I am pa
rticularly anxious that a little girl who is in very greattrouble, but who has learnt self-control, should come in and sit in thearmchair by the Squire's side. She will not speak, but will sit there.Is there any objection?"

  "Is it the child, sir, who fainted when she came into the room to-day?"

  "Yes; she was almost mad, poor little soul; but I think she is all rightnow, and she has learnt her lesson. Nurse, can you manage it?"

  "It must be as you please, sir."

  "Then I will risk it," said the doctor.

  He went back to Evelyn, and said a few words to her.

  "You must wash your face," he said, "and tidy yourself; and you musthave a good meal."

  Evelyn shook her head.

  "If you do not do exactly what I tell you I cannot help you."

  "Very well; I will eat and eat until you tell me to stop," she answered.

  "Go, and be quick, then," said the doctor, "for we are arranging thingsfor the night."

  So Evelyn went, and returned in a few minutes; then the doctor took herhand and led her into the sickroom, and she sat by the side of thepatient.

  The room was very still--not a sound, not a movement. The sick man slept;Evelyn, with her eyes wide open, sat, not daring to move a finger.

  What she thought of her past life during that time no one knows; butthat soul within her was coming more and more to the surface. It was astrong soul, although it had been so long asleep, and already newdesires, unselfish and beautiful, were awakening in the child. Betweentwelve and one that night the Squire opened his eyes and saw a littlegirl, with a white face and eyes big and dark, seated close to him.

  He smiled, and his hand just went out a quarter of an inch to Evelyn.She saw the movement, and immediately her own small fingers clasped his.She bent down and kissed his hand.

  "Uncle Edward, do not speak," she said. "It was I who loaded the gun.You must get well, Uncle Edward, or I shall die."

  He did not answer in any words, but his eyes smiled at her; and the nextmoment she had sunk back in her chair, relieved to her heart's core. Hereyes closed; she slept.