by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XXVI.
IN ROSAMUND'S BOWER.
The days flew by, and apparently all was harmonious in the littleschool. Agnes clung more closely than ever to Irene. Irene hadconsiderably altered. She was no longer specially wild. She was so muchabsorbed in watching Agnes, in seeing that no one else put in any claimwith regard to this small girl, that she had no time to think of beingmischievous. Besides, she had her lessons to attend to; and lessonsunder Miss Archer, and Mademoiselle Omont, and, still more, under thedifferent masters who attended to the school, were of the moststimulating character. The child seemed to imbibe knowledge with arapidity which astonished all those who watched her. She understood themeaning of a thing at a glance, and it was soon perceived that, inaddition to her extraordinary and very remarkable beauty, she was also agenius, or almost that, for she had a natural talent for all sorts ofthings: for music, which she could already play impromptu, bringing outwild melodies on the piano to which her hearers felt they could go onlistening for ever. Of course, the mistresses were supposed not toapprove of this sort of playing, and tried to tie Irene down to theusual exercises and the different methods for bringing strength to thefingers. Irene did attend to these lessons, but only in a sort ofhalf-hearted way; soon she broke again into those wild melodies whichseemed to pierce the heart and get more or less to the soul of thelittle performer.
The Singleton girls were often now spending a day or half a day at theMerrimans' school, and Irene and all her companions would alsofrequently spend an afternoon at the Rectory. People had ceased to beafraid of Irene. She was now like an ordinary child. It was quite truethat those who watched her narrowly still saw that wild glance in hereyes, which could be easily excited; but then, Rosamund was near tosubdue if the moment came, and little Agnes's affectionate touch on herarm had always the power to comfort and soothe her.
"Aggie," she said to the little girl one day, "I don't know how I livedwithout you. I used to make pets of my poor leeches."
"Leeches!" said Agnes, with a shudder.
"Yes, darling. You know that dreadful story that was told you. Well, ofcourse it was true--quite true. But then I had no friends, and so I hadFuzz and Buzz, and Thunder and Lightning, and the little Stars. Oh! itused to be great fun to watch them, and to think how I could terrifypeople by them."
"But," said little Agnes, "it was very cruel, wasn't it?"
"I suppose it was, Agnes. Only I wanted the magical influence of lovelike yours to take the cruelty out of my heart, to smooth down all therough edges, and to make me feel like an ordinary girl. I feel like anordinary girl now in many ways, except that I could never give you up,Agnes."
"And I couldn't give you up, Irene. I told dear Emily so the other day."
"She didn't want you to, did she?" said Irene, with sudden fierceness.
"Oh no; but she did ask me what I found in you to make you more preciousthan any other girl in the school, and I said"----
"What did you say? Look me in the face, Agnes."
Agnes looked up with her melting, loving eyes.
"I said that somehow or other I loved you, and I did not love theothers."
"Ah! there you struck the nail on the head," said Irene. "Look here,Agnes; if anything happened to divide us I'd get worse than ever;because, you see, I am cleverer than I used to be."
"Nothing can come to divide us," said little Agnes. "What could?"
"I am only saving that if anything did I'd be worse than ever."
"I wish you wouldn't talk like that."
"I can't help it sometimes, for I am--yes, I am--much cleverer now."
This little conversation took place in a small arbor at the Rectory; andjust at this moment some one called Agnes, and Agnes, looking forpermission at Irene, who nodded in reply, ran off. A moment later MissCarter herself entered the bower, where Irene was still sitting.
"So you are not afraid of me now, Cartery dear," said Irene, speaking inthe sort of tone which she supposed Maud Singleton adopted.
"No, I am not afraid of you. You are much altered. I came to say howmuch I admire you. In short, you are not the same girl you used to be."
"Well, it is owing to two influences," said Irene: "to Rosamund, who isso strong and brave, and took me in hand, and showed me myself, and didnot express a scrap of fright, however much terror I tried to inspireher with; and it is owing also to even a stronger influence."
"And what is that?" said Miss Carter.
"Well, you see, there is that little thing--that darling--I can scarcelyspeak her name without trembling. I love her so much. She is like my ownlittle child."
"Do you mean little Agnes Frost?"
"Oh yes. She is nothing to the rest of you. I do not wish her to be.She is all--all mine; and if anything happened to her, if she were takenfrom me, if I had to do without her, I should become worse than ever."
"But what do you mean?" said Miss Carter. "Why should little Agnes betaken from you?"
"I don't suppose anybody would dare to take her from me. Frostywouldn't, and mother wouldn't; the school wouldn't; but there is awicked girl who tried her very best to frighten little Agnes, onlyRosamund brought her back to her senses. The darling knows that whoeverelse I might hurt at one time, I never could and never would hurt onehair of her head. And she loves me in return."
"Then that's all right," said Miss Carter.
Just at that moment a slight rustling was heard at the back of thelittle bower. Irene did not notice it, but Miss Carter did.
"I wonder if anybody is listening?" she said.
"Who cares? I don't mind if the whole world hears. There's that spy,Lucy Merriman; she is as likely as not to do mean things. But I don'tmind even her."
"Oh, don't you?" thought Lucy, who had that moment come a little nearerthe back of the bower.
"No, I don't mind even her," repeated Irene. "I only say that as long asRosamund is with me I shall be a good girl, just because I can't helpmyself; and if any one were to take my Rosamund from me I should beworse than ever."
"You were pretty bad. I don't know how you could be worse than you usedto be."
"Well, you see, I know more. I have more knowledge. I could be morerefined in my acts of terrorism, or whatever you like to call them.Anyhow, people had better not try."
"People had better not try!" thought Lucy. "But, my fine Irene, somebodyis going to try."
The evening passed, and the children came back again to have supper atSunnyside. Lucy was biding her time. She disliked Irene even more thanshe disliked Rosamund. As to little Agnes, she was not of the smallestinterest to her. She simply wished to divide her effectually from Irene,in order to punish both Irene and Rosamund; and nothing could give hergreater pleasure than that Irene should burst into one of her worstfrenzies. She thought she saw a way.
The family were all sitting contentedly at their supper when a telegramwas brought in which was handed to Rosamund. It was from her mother,telling her that her father was seriously ill, and wanted her to come toLondon on the following day. Rosamund, who was intensely devoted to bothher parents, was much distressed. She handed the telegram to Mrs.Merriman, who immediately gave her the necessary permission.
"You must start by the very first train to-morrow morning," said Mrs.Merriman, "and one of the governesses must go with you. Miss Frost mightbe the best."
"Of course, Miss Frost would be the right person," said Lucy, suddenlyraising her voice, for it seemed to her that she saw the veryopportunity she wished for in this unexpected absence of Rosamund.
"I shall probably only be away for a day. I cannot think there can beanything seriously wrong with dear father," said Rosamund. "But, ofcourse, after mother's telegram I must go."
Accordingly, a reply stating the hour of Rosamund's arrival atPaddington was wired back to London, and shortly afterwards the girlwent up to her own room to pack a few things. She was not depressed, forher father was subject to sudden attacks, which, although distressful,were not of a painful nature.
Presently Irene came and sat in the room with her. She sat down on theedge of the bed.
"I should almost die here," she said, "if it were not for Agnes. As itis, I feel dreadful. I feel quite frightened at the thought of yourgoing."
"But for my sake you will do your utmost to try to be good while I amaway, won't you, Irene? I shall probably only be in London one night, ortwo at the very most; and Frosty is coming too. You won't mind that?Miss Frost is coming back at once; she will return in time for to-morrowevening."
"Oh! I suppose it will be all right," said Irene restlessly.
Rosamund went on putting a few things into her little trunk. Then shewent up to Irene, put her arm round her waist, and kissed her.
"I am proud of you, Irene," she said. "I shall always feel that I havenot lived in vain when I think how different you are from the child Ifirst saw only a few months ago."
"I feel different," said Irene. "I begin to have a sort of pleasure inbeing--I mean in trying to be--good. It is you, of course--you and dearlittle Agnes."
"Well, Agnes will be more than ever in your care now."
"Oh! I shall look after her, there's no fear of that. I shall beterribly lonely without you, darling; but she and I will be all in allto each other while you are away. If it wasn't for--for Lucy Merriman Ishould be quite happy, for I think the other girls are inclined to benice; but I hate Lucy."
"Well, I must say, Irene, speaking honestly, I hate her too. But we mustboth make up our minds not to mind her. She cannot really hurt us."
"Hurt us?" said Irene. "I'm sure I'm not afraid of her, if that is whatyou mean."
"Well, that's all right. Now, let us go to bed."
"I believe I am very tired too. I will promise to be quite good whileyou are away, so you need not have any anxiety on my account, darling,"said Irene; and she kissed Rosamund several times.
The night passed, and early the next morning Rosamund, accompanied byMiss Frost, took her departure. There was a certain loneliness felt inthe school, for Rosamund was exceedingly popular with every girl in theplace, with the sole exception of Lucy Merriman. Busy school-life,however, gives little time for regrets or even for loneliness. Eachmoment of time is carefully marked out, each hour has its appointedtask, and the girls were, to all appearance, as happy as usual. LittleAgnes did not in the very least miss Rosamund or her own sister Emily.Her whole soul was set upon Irene, who helped her with her lessons,walked with her, and hardly ever let her out of her sight.
In the course of the evening Lucy was seen to go up to Phyllis Flower.
"Now, Phyllis," she said, "here is your chance. I've got the very thingthat will do the business. We must get Agnes to bed, and a little later,when she is asleep, you shall creep into the room and just slip thisthing under the bedclothes. She won't know who has done it. She willwake out of her first sleep, and naturally think that it is Irene'sdoing."
As Lucy spoke she drew Phyllis towards a corner of the playground, wherea large, rather ferocious-looking hedgehog was curled up in a ball.
"But that--that would almost kill the child," said Phyllis, startingback.
"We must give her a good fright; it is the only way to effect ourpurpose. Then one or other of us must be near, and intercept her, andtell her that we will be her friends. Then you will have your week withme in London; but you must do it."
"I almost think," said Phyllis, turning very white, "that I'd rather nothave my week. You can do it yourself if you like. It seems so cruel, andthey are very happy together, and she is a very timid little thing. Andjust when her sister is not at home!"
"That is the very time. I am going to have a chat with little Agnes thisevening. I am going in a certain way to prepare her--not much. Now,don't be a goose, Phyllis. Think what a jolly time you will have inLondon. It will be quite impossible for us to be found out."
Lucy talked to Phyllis for some time, and finally persuaded her to actas her accomplice in the matter.
It was a rule at Sunnyside that the smaller girls, consisting of PhyllisFlower, Agnes Sparkes, and little Agnes Frost, should go to bed quite anhour before the other girls. They usually had supper of milk and a fewbiscuits, and went to their room not later than eight o'clock. The othergirls did not go to bed until half-past nine, and had a more substantialmeal at eight o'clock. Phyllis Flower, therefore, for every reason, wasbest able to perform the mean trick by which Lucy meant to sever thefriendship between Irene and little Agnes; but the child must beslightly alarmed, otherwise the hedgehog might be put into the bed andshe know nothing about it.
Consequently, just before the younger children's simple supper wasbrought in on a tray, Lucy came and sat down near Agnes Frost.
"You must miss your Emily," she said.
Her tone was quite caressing and gentle. Little Agnes--who did not likeLucy, but could not in her heart of hearts cherish ill-will towards anyone--raised her eyes now and said gently, "Of course I miss her; butthen, I have my dear Irene."
Lucy put on a smile which meant wonderful things.
"You are a very courageous little girl," she said after a pause.
Little Agnes was silent for a minute; then she said gravely, "I knowexactly what you mean by that, and I think you are mistaken. You saidthings about my Irene which are not true."
"Oh, indeed! you accuse me of falsehood, do you?" said Lucy.
"Well, perhaps not exactly of falsehood; but I don't think it was kindof you to tell me, for Irene is changed now. She could never do cruelthings now."
"She will never be changed. Don't you understand that she is not likeordinary people? She is a sort of fairy, hardly like a human being atall. I may as well tell you, now that Rosamund and Miss Frost are away,that while Rosamund slept in the next room you were practically safe. Iwill admit, although I have no love for Rosamund Cunliffe, that she is avery brave and plucky girl. To-night, however----But I trust it will beall right. I don't want to make you nervous. I trust it will be allright."
Lucy moved off and sat down before her books and pretended to read.By-and-by Irene, looking lovely in one of her prettiest pale-bluedresses, entered the room. Little Agnes was sipping her milk veryslowly. Irene ran straight up to her. She had the power of almostdivining a person's thoughts, and she was conscious that the child wastroubled.
"What is it, pet?" she said. "Has anybody vexed you?"
"Oh, nobody--nobody, indeed, dear Irene."
"Well, that is all right. I wish I could go to bed with you to-night."
"I wish you could," said the child nervously.
"But I can't. I have an awfully stiff piece of work to get throughbefore the morning, and I am determined to be first in my form,otherwise Lucy Merriman will get ahead of me, and that she shall not."
"But I sha'n't be nervous really."
"No, of course not, dear. What is there to be nervous about?"
Irene was really absorbed in an intricate calculation which she had tomake with regard to a very advanced sum, and sat down at a distanttable, and forgot for the time being even little Agnes. Agnes,therefore, went up to bed alone. There was no Miss Frost to help her toundress, there was no one to take any notice of her, and there were thefearful stories that Lucy kept hinting at ringing in her ears. Yes,Irene had done dreadful things. Yes, she had. But Irene to her wasperfect. She had no fear with her; she was happy with her. But then,Lucy Merriman had said that that was because little Agnes was so wellprotected. She had Rosamund sleeping practically in the same room, andMiss Frost, her own sister, not far away. Irene did not dare to doanything dreadful. But she had done dreadful things. She had nearlykilled poor Miss Carter. She had made her own beloved sister swallowinsects instead of pills. In short, she was just what Lucy had describedher to be. And Lucy had said another dreadful thing to-night. She hadhinted that Irene was not exactly to blame, for she was not like anordinary girl; she was a sort of fairy girl. Now, Agnes had read severalfairy-tales, and knew, supposing such a wonderful thing as a fairyreally lived in the world, that she might be influenc
ed by some otherfairies, who would guide her, and help her, and force her to do thingswhether she liked them or not. But still she never would be unkind tolittle Agnes.
"It is a perfect shame of me even to think of it," said the little girlto herself. "I am ever so sleepy, but still I'll just look under thepillow. Oh, suppose Fuzz or Buzz were there, wouldn't I just scream withterror?"
But the pillow was quite innocent and harbored no obnoxious thing; thebed was smooth and white as usual; and little Agnes undressed, not quiteas carefully as when Miss Frost was looking after her, and getting intobed, laid her head on the pillow, and presently fell fast asleep.
She had not been asleep more than a quarter of an hour before the roomdoor was opened most carefully (the lock had been oiled in advance byLucy), and Phyllis Flower, carrying the hedgehog, came in. She drew downthe bedclothes and laid the hedgehog so that its prickles would justtouch the child in case she moved, and then as carefully withdrew. Shehated herself for having done it. All was quiet in that part of thehouse, which was far away from the schoolrooms, and no one heard a childgive a terrible scream a few minutes later; and no one saw that samechild spring out of bed, hastily put on her clothes, and rush downstairsin wild distress and despair.
Lucy had meant to be close at hand to comfort little Agnes when frightovertook her. But she had been called away to do some writing for herfather. Laura Everett was busy attending to her own work. Phyllis Flowerwas in bed and asleep. She had earned her trip to London, and wasdreaming about the delights of that time. No one heard that scream,which was at once faint and piteous. No one heard the little feet speedthrough the hall, and no one saw the little figure stealthily leave thehouse. Little Agnes was going to run away. Yes, there was no doubtwhatever now in her mind: her darling Irene was a fairy, a changeling.She had done the most cruel and awful thing.
When little Agnes had seen the hedgehog in her bed she was far tooterrified even to recognize the nature of the creature that had beenmade her bedfellow. But she felt sure that Lucy's words were right: thatIrene was a wicked changeling, and that the sooner she got away from herthe better. The child was too young to reason, too simple by nature togive any thought to double-dealing. All she wanted now was to get away.She could not stay another minute in the house. Her love for Irene wasswallowed up altogether by her wild terror. She trembled; she shook fromhead to foot.
It was a bitterly cold winter's night, and the child was onlyhalf-clothed. She had forgotten to put on anything but her house-shoes,and had not even a hat on her head. But that did not matter. She wasout, and there was no terrible Irene to come near her, no wicked fairyto do her damage. She would stay out all night if necessary. She wouldhide from Irene. She could never be her friend again.
The terror in her little heart rendered her quite unreasonable for thetime being. She was, in short, past reason. By-and-by she crept into theold bower where Rosamund and Irene had spent a midsummer night--a nightaltogether very different from the present one, for the bower was notwaterproof, and the cold sleet came in and fell upon the half-dressedchild. She sank down on the seat, which was already drenched; but littleshe cared. She crouched there, wondering what was to be the end, andgiving little cries of absolute anguish now and then.
