To this Dolores did not answer. To her mind she was the person ill-used by the prohibition of correspondence, but she could not say so. Every one was falling on her; but Aunt Jane's questions could not well help being answered.
'What will your father think of if?'
'He never forbade me to write to Uncle Alfred' said Dolores.
'Because he never thought of your doing such a thing. Did he give you this cheque?'
'Yes.'
'For yourself?'
'N-n-o. But it was the same.'
'What do you mean by that?'
'It was to pay a man-a man that's dead.'
'That may be; but what right did that give you to spend the money otherwise? Who was the man?'
'Professor Muhlwasser, for some books of plates.'
'How do you know he is dead! Who told you so? Eh! Was it Flinders? Ah! you see what comes of trusting to an unprincipled man like that. If you had only been open and straightforward with Aunt Lily, or with any of us, you would have been saved from this tissue of falsehood; forfeiting your Uncle Reginald's good opinion, and enabling Flinders to do your father this great injury.' She paused, and, as Dolores made no answer, she went on again-'Indeed, there is no saying what you have not brought on yourself by your deceit and disobedience. If Flinders is apprehended, you will have to appear against him in court, and publicly avow that you gave away what your father trusted to you.'
Dolores gave a little moan and start, and her aunt, perceiving that she had touched an apparently vulnerable spot, proceeded-'The only thing left for you to do is to tell the whole story frankly and honestly. I don't say so only for the sake of showing Aunt Lily that you are sorry for having abused her confidence. I wish I could think that you are; but, unless we know all, we cannot shield you from any further consequences, and that of course we should wish to do, for your father's sake.'
Dolores did not feel drawn to confession, but she knew that when Aunt Jane once set herself to ask questions, there was no use in trying to conceal anything. So she made answers, chiefly 'Yes' or No,' and her aunt, by severe and diligent pumping, had extracted bit by bit what it was most essential should be known, before the gong summoned them. Dolores would rather have been a solitary prisoner, able to chafe against oppression, than have been obliged to come down and confront everybody; but she crept into the place left for her between Mysie and Wilfred. She had very little appetite, and never found out how Mysie was fulfilling her resolution of kindness by baulking Wilfred of sundry attempts to tease; by substituting her own kissing-crust for Dolly's more unpoetical piece of bread; and offering to exchange her delicious strawberry-jam tartlet for the black-currant one at which her cousin was looking with reluctant eyes.
Mysie and Valetta were grievously exercised about their chances of returning to the G.F.S. Tree. Indeed Gillian went the length of telling them that Fly was behaving far better in her disappointment as to the Butterfly's Ball than they were as to this 'old second-hand tree.' Fly laughed and observed, 'Dear me, things one would like are always being stopped. If one was to mind every time, how horrid it would be! And there's always something to make up!'
Then it occurred to Gillian, though not to her younger sisters, that Lady Phyllis Devereux lived in general a much less indulged, and more frequently disappointed, life than did herself and her sisters.
However, there was great delight at that dinner-table. Jasper had ridden to get the letters of the second post, and Lord Rotherwood had his hands and his head full of them when he came in to luncheon-there being what Lady Merrifield called a respectable dinner in view. In the first place. Lord Ivinghoe was getting on very well, and was up, sitting by the fire, playing patience. Nobody was catching the measles, and quarantine would be over on the 9th of January. Secondly, 'Fly, shall you be very broken-hearted if I tell you.'
'Oh, daddy, you wouldn't look like that if it was anything very bad! Lion isn't dead?'
'No; but I grieve to say your unnatural grand-parents don't want you! Grandmamma is nervous about having you without mamma. What did we do last time we were there, Fly?'
'Don't you remember, daddy? they said there was nothing for me to ride to the meet, and you and Griffin put the side-saddle on Crazy Kate, and we went out with the hounds, and I've got the brush up in my room!'
'I don't wonder grandmamma is nervous,' observed Lady Merrifield.
'Will you be nervous, Lily,' said Lord Rotherwood, 'if this same flyaway mortal is left on your hands till the 9th?'
Dinner, manners, silence before company, and all, could not repress a general scream of ecstacy, which called forth the reply. 'I should think you and her mother were the people to be nervous.
'Oh! my lady has been duly instructed in Merrifield perfections, and esteems you a model mother.'
The children's nods and smiles said 'Hear, hear!'
'Well, you've got it all in her own letter,' continued Lord Rotherwood. 'You see, they've got a caucus at High Court, and a dinner, and I must go up there on Monday; but if you'll keep this dangerous Fly-'
'I can answer for the pleasure it will give,'
'Well then, I'll come back for her by the 9th, and you've Victoria's letter, haven't you?'
'Yes, it is very kind of her.'
'Then I shall expect you to be ready to start with me for the Butterfly's Ball. Eh, young ladies, what will you come out as?'
'Oh daddy, daddy, is it? Has mamma asked them? Oh! it is more delicious than anything ever was. Mysie, Mysie, what will you be?'
'The sly little dormouse crept out of his hole,' quoted Mysie, in a very low, happy voice.
'And I will be a jolly old frog,' shouted Fergus, finding the ordinance of silence broken and making the most of it, on the presumption that the whole family were invited. However, the tone, rather than the uncomprehended words of his mother's answer, 'Nobody asked you, sir,' she said, reduced him to silence, and it became understood, through Fly's inquiries, that the invitation included Lady Merrifield must make her acceptance doubtful. And besides, the question which three were to go was the unspoken drawback to full bliss, and yet the delight was exceedingly great in the prospect, great enough to make the contrast of gloom in poor Dolores's spirit all the darker, as she sat, left out of everything, and she could not now say, with absolute injustice, though she still clung to the belief that there was more misfortune than fault in her disgrace.
She crept away, shivering with unhappiness, to the schoolroom, while the others frisked off discussing the wonderful Butterfly's Ball. Lady Merrifield looked in on her, and she hardened herself to endure either another probing or fresh reproaches, but all she heard was, 'My dear, I cannot talk over this sad affair now, as I have to go out. But, if you can, I think you had better write to your father about it, and let him understand exactly how it happened. Or, if you had rather write than speak in explaining it to me, you can do so, and we can consider tomorrow what is to be done about it.'
Then she went out with her brother and cousin to drive to some Industrial schools which Lord Rotherwood wanted to see.
CHAPTER XV. THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL.
Miss Mohun went to the Casement Cottages with Gillian to see what the elder Miss Hacket might wish and whether they could be of use to her; the young people being left to exercise themselves within call in case the Tree was to be continued.
This proved to be an act of great kindness, for poor Mary Hacket was suffering all the distress of an upright and honourable woman at her sister's abuse of confidence; and had felt as if Colonel Mohun's summons to his nieces was the close of all intimacy with such an unworthy household. Moreover, the evenings entertainment could not be given up and Gillian was despatched to summon the eager assistants, while Aunt Jane repeated her assurances that Lady Merrifield perfectly understood Miss Hacket's ignorance of the doings in Constance's room listening patiently even when the tender-hearted woman began to excuse her sister for having accepted Dolores's lamentations at being cut off from her so. called uncle. 'Dear Connie i
s so romantic, and so easily touched,' she said, 'though, of course, it was very wrong of her to suppose that Lady Merrifield could do anything harsh or unkind. She is in great grief now, poor darling, she feels so bitterly that her friend led her into it by deceiving her about the relationship and character.'
This, Aunt Jane did not think the worst part of the affair, and she said that the girl had been brought up to call the man Uncle Alfred, and very possibly did not understand that he was only so by courtesy, nor that he was so utterly untrustworthy.
'I thought so,' said Mary Hacket. 'I told Connie that such a child could not possibly have been a willing party to his fraud-for fraud, I fear, it was-Miss Mohun. Do you think there is any hope of her recovering the sum she advanced.'
'I am afraid there is not, even if the wretched man is apprehended.'
'Ah! if she had only told me what she wanted it for!'
'I hope it was all her own.'
'Oh, Miss Mohun, no doubt you know that two sisters living together must accommodate one another a little, and Connie's dress expenses, at her age, are necessarily more than mine. But here come the dear children, and we ought to dismiss all painful subjects, though I declare I am so nervous I hardly know what I am about.'
However, by Miss Mohun's help, the good lady rose to the occasion, and when once busy, the trouble was thrown off, so that no guests would have detected how unhappy she had been in the forenoon. Constance soon came down, and confided to Gillian a parcel directed to Miss D. Mohun, containing all the notes written to her, and all the books lent to her, by the false friend whom she had cast off, after which she threw herself into the interests of the present.
The London ornaments, and the residue of the gifts and bonbons, made the Christmas-tree a most memorable one to the G.F.S. mind.
As to Fly, she fraternized to a great extent with a very small maid, in a very long, brown dress, and very thick boots, who did not taste a single bonbon, and being asked whether she understood that they were good to eat, replied that she was keeping them for 'our Bertie and Minnie;' and, on encouragement, launched into such a description of her charges-the blacksmith's small children-that Lady Phyllis went back, not without regrets that she could not be a little nurse who had done with school at twelve years old, and spent her days at the back of a perambulator.
'Oh, daddy,' she said, 'I do wish you had come down; it was such lovely fun-the best tree I ever saw. Why wouldn't you come?'
'If thirty odd years should pass over that little head of yours, my Lady Fly, and you should then meet with Mysie and Val, maybe you will then learn the reason why.'
'We will recollect that in thirty years' time.'
'When our children go to a Christmas-tree.'
'And we sit over the fire instead.'
'Oh! but should we ever not care for a dear, delightful Christmas-tree?'
'If we had each other instead.'
'Then we would all go still together!'
'And tell our little boys and girls all about this one, and the Butterfly's Ball!'
'Perhaps our husbands would want us, and not let us go.'
'Oh! I don't want a husband. He'd be in the way. We'd send him off to India or somewhere, like Aunt Lily's.'
'Don't, Fly; it is not at all nice to have papa away.'
'Oh yes, it would be ten hundred times better if he were at home.'
Such were the mingled sentiments of the triad, as they went upstairs to bed, linked together in their curious fashion.
Some time later, a bedroom discussion of affairs was held by Lady Merrifield and Miss Mohun, who had not had a moment alone together all day, to converse upon the two versions of the disaster which the latter had extracted from Dolores and Constance, and which fairly agreed, though Constance had been by far the most voluble, and somewhat ungenerously violent against her former friend, at least so Lady Merrifield remarked.
'You should take into account the authoress's disappointed vanity.'
'Yes, poor thing! How he must have nattered her!'
'Besides, there is the loss of the money, which, I fear, falls as seriously on good Miss Hacket as on the goose herself.'
'Does it, indeed? That must not be. How much is it?'
'Fifteen pounds; and that foolish Constance fancies that poor Dolores assisted in duping her. I really had to defend the girl; though I am just as angry myself when I watch her adamantine sullenness.'
'I am the person to be angry with for having allowed the intimacy, in spite of your warnings, Jenny.'
'You were too innocent to know what girls are made of. Oh yes, you are very welcome to have six of your own, but you might have six dozen without knowing what a girl brought up at a second-rate boarding-school is capable of, or what it is to have had no development of conscience. What shall you do? send her to school?'
'After that recommendation of yours?'
'I didn't propose a second-rate boarding-school, ma'am. There's a High School starting after the holidays at Rockstone. Let me have her, and send her there.'
'Ada would not like it.'
'Never mind Ada, I'll settle her. I would keep Dolly well up to her lessons, and prevent these friendships.'
'I suppose you would manage her better than I have been able to do,' said Lady Merrifield, reluctantly. 'Yet I should like to try again; I don't want to let her go. Is it the old story of duty and love, Jane? Have I failed again through negligence and ignorance, and deceived myself by calling weakness and blindness love?'
'You don't fail with your own, Lily. Rotherwood runs about admiring them, and saying he never saw a better union of freedom and obedience. It was really a treat to see Gillian's ways tonight; she had so much consideration, and managed her sisters so well.'
'Ah, but there's their father! I do so dread spoiling them for him before he comes home; but then he is a present influence with us all the time.'
'They would all clap their hands if I carried Dolly off.'
'Yes, and that is one reason I don't want to give her up; it seems so sad to send Maurice's child away leaving such an impression. One thing I am. thankful for, that it will be all over before grandmamma and Bessie Merrifield come.'
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a small figure appeared in a scarlet robe, bare feet, and dishevelled hair.
'Mysie, dear child! What's the matter? who is ill?'
'Oh, please come, mamma, Dolly is choking and crying in such a dreadful way, and I can't stop her.'
'I give up, Lily. This is mother-work,' said Miss Mohun.
Hurrying upstairs, Lady Merrifield found very distressing sounds issuing from Dolores's room; sobs, not loud, but almost strangled into a perfect agony of choking down by the resolute instinct, for it was scarcely will.
'My dear, my dear, don't stop it!' she exclaimed, lifting up the girl in her arms. 'Let it out; cry freely; never mind. She will be better soon, Mysie dear. Only get me a glass of water, and find a fresh handkerchief. There, there, that's right!' as Dolores let herself lean on the kind breast, and conscious that the utmost effects of the disturbance had come, allowed her long-drawn sobs to come freely, and moaned as they shook her whole frame, though without screaming. Her aunt propped her up on her own bosom, parted back her hair, kissed her, and saying she was getting better, sent Mysie back to her bed. The first words that were gasped out between the rending sobs were, 'Oh! is my-he-to be tried?'
'Most likely not, my dear. He has had full time to get away, and I hope it is so.'
'But wasn't he there? Haven't they got him? Weren't they asking me about him, and saying I must be tried for stealing father's cheque?'
'You were dreaming, my poor child. They have not taken him, and I am quite sure you will not be tried anyway.'
'They said-Aunt Jane and Uncle Reginald and all, and 'that dreadful man that came-'
'Perhaps they said you might have to be examined, but only if he is apprehended, and I fully expect that he is out of reach, so that you need not frighten yourself about that,
my dear.'
'Oh, don't go!' cried Dolores, as her aunt stirred.
'No, I'm not going. I was only reaching some water for you. Let me sponge your face.'
To this Dolores submitted gratefully, and then sighed, as if under heavy oppression, 'And did he really do it?'
'I am afraid he must have done so.'
'I never thought it. Mother always helped him.'
'Yes, my dear, that made it very hard for you to know what was right to do, and this is a most terrible shock for you,' said her aunt, feeling unable to utter another reproach just then to one who had been so loaded with blame, and she was touched the more when Dolores moaned, 'Mother would have cared so much.'
She answered with a kiss, was glad to find her hand still held, and forgot that it was past eleven o'clock.
'Please, will it quite ruin father?' asked Dolores, who had not out-grown childish confusion about large sums of money.
'Not exactly, my dear. It was more than he had in the bank, and Uncle Regie thinks the bankers will undertake part of the loss if he will let them. It is more inconvenient than ruinous.'
'Ah!' There was a faintness and oppression in the sound which made Lady Merrifield think the girl ought not to be left, and before long, sickness came on. Nurse Halfpenny had to be called up, and it was one o'clock before there was a quiet, comfortable sleep, which satisfied the aunt and nurse that it was safe to repair to their own beds again.
The dreary, undefined self-reproach and vague alarms, intensified by the sullen, reserved temper, and culminating in such a shock, alienating the only persons she cared for, and filling her with terror for the future, could not but have a physical effect, and Dolores was found on the morrow with a bad head-ache, and altogether in a state to be kept in bed, with a fire in her room.
Gillian and Mysie were much impressed by the intelligence of their cousin's illness when they came to their mother's room on the way to breakfast, and Mysie turned to her sister, saying, 'There Gill, you see she did care, though she didn't cry like us. Being ill is more than crying.'
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