by E. Nesbit
When Molly stayed at the White House she was accustomed to read aloud inthe mornings from 'Ministering Children' or 'Little Pilgrims,' whileAunt Maria sewed severely. But that morning Aunt Maria did not send forher.
'Your aunt's not well,' Clements told her; 'she won't be down beforelunch. Run along, do, miss, and walk in the garden like a young lady.'
Molly chose rather to swagger out into the stableyard like a younggentleman. The groom was saddling the sorrel horse.
'I've got to take a telegram to the station,' said he.
'Take me,' said Molly.
'Likely! And what ud your aunt say?'
'She won't know,' said Molly, 'and if she does I'll say I made you.'
He laughed, and Molly had a splendid ride behind the groom, with herarms so tight round his waistcoat that he could hardly breathe.
When they got to the station a porter lifted her down, and the groom lether send off the telegram. It was to Uncle Toodlethwaite, and it said:
'Please come down at once urgent business most important don't fail bring Bates.--MARIA CARRUTHERS.'
So Molly knew something very out of the way had happened, and she wasglad that her aunt should have something to think of besides her,because the White House would have been a very nice place to stay at ifAunt Maria had not so often remembered to do her duty by you.
'Molly had a splendid ride behind the groom.'--Page 134]
In the afternoon Uncle Toodlethwaite came, and he and Aunt Maria and aperson in black with a shining black bag--Molly supposed he was Mr.Bates, who was to be brought by Uncle Toodlethwaite--sat in thedining-room with the door shut.
Molly went to help the kitchenmaid shell peas, in the little grasscourtyard in the middle of the house. They sat on the kitchen steps, andMolly could hear the voices of Clements and the housekeeper through theopen window of the servants' hall. She heard, but she did not think itwas eavesdropping, or anything dishonourable, like listening at doors.They were talking quite out loud.
'And a dreadful blow it will be to us all, if true,' the housekeeper wassaying.
'_She_ thinks it's true,' said Clements; 'cried her eyes out, she did,and wired for her brother-in-law once removed.'
'Meaning her brother's brother-in-law--I see. But I don't know as Ireally understand the ins and outs of it even yet.'
'Well, it's like this,' said Clements: 'missis an' her brother they usedto live here along of their uncle, and he had a son, a regular bad egghe was, and the old master said he shouldn't ever have a penny of hismoney. He said he'd leave it to Mr. Carruthers--that's missis's brother,see?'
'That means father,' thought Molly.
'And he'd leave missis the house and enough money to keep it up instyle. He was a warm man, it seems. Well, then the son's drowned atsea--ship went down and all aboard perished. Just as well, because whenthe old man died they couldn't find no will. So it all comes to missisand her brother, there being no other relations near or far, and theydivides it the same as the old man had always said he wished. You seewhat I mean?'
'Near enough,' said the housekeeper; 'and then?'
'Why, then,' said Clements, 'comes this letter--this very morning--froma lawyer, to say as this bad egg of a son wasn't drowned at all: he wasin foreign parts, and only now heard of his father's decease, and tendswithout delay to claim the property, which all comes to him, thedeceased have died insensate--that means without a will.'
'I say, Clements,' Molly sung out, 'you must have read the letter. Didaunt show it to you?'
There was a dead silence; the kitchenmaid giggled. Someone whisperedinside the room. Then the housekeeper's voice called softly, 'Come inhere a minute, miss,' and the window was sharply shut.
Molly emptied the peascods out of her pinafore and went in.
Directly she was inside the door Clements caught her by the arm andshook her.
'You nasty mean, prying little cat!' she said; 'and me getting you jellyand custard, and I don't know what all.'
'I'm not,' said Molly. 'Don't, Clements; you hurt.'
'You deserve me to,' was the reply. 'Doesn't she, Mrs. Williams?'
'Don't you know it's wrong to listen, miss?' asked Mrs. Williams.
'I didn't listen,' said Molly indignantly. 'You were simply shouting. Noone could help hearing. Me and Jane would have had to put our fingers inour ears _not_ to hear.'
'I didn't think it of you,' said Clements, beginning to sniff.
'I don't know what you're making all this fuss about,' said Molly; 'I'mnot a sneak.'
'Have a piece of cake, miss,' said Mrs. Williams, 'and give me your wordit shan't go any further.'
'I don't want your cake; you'd better give it to Clements. It's she thattells things--not me.'
Molly began to cry.
'There, I declare, miss, I'm sorry I shook you, but I was that put out.There! I ask your pardon; I can't do more. You wouldn't get poorClements into trouble, I'm sure.'
'Of course I wouldn't; you might have known that.'
Well, peace was restored; but Molly wouldn't have any cake.
That evening Jane wore a new silver brooch, shaped like a horseshoe,with an arrow through it.
It was after tea, when Uncle Toodlethwaite was gone, that Molly,creeping quietly out to see the pigs fed, came upon her aunt at the endof the hollyhock walk. Her aunt was sitting on the rustic seat that thecrimson rambler rose makes an arbour over. Her handkerchief was held toher face with both hands, and her thin shoulders were shaking withsobs.
And at once Molly forgot how disagreeable Aunt Maria had always been,and how she hated her. She ran to her aunt and threw her arms round herneck. Aunt Maria jumped in her seat, but she let the arms stay wherethey were, though they made it quite difficult for her to use herhandkerchief.
'Don't cry, dear ducky _darling_ Aunt Maria,' said Molly--'oh, don't!What _is_ the matter?'
'Nothing you would understand,' said Aunt Maria gruffly; 'run away andplay, there's a good child.'
'But I don't want to play while you're crying. I'm sure I couldunderstand, dear little auntie.'
Molly embraced the tall, gaunt figure of the aunt.
'Dear little auntie, tell Molly.'
She used just the tone she was used to use to her baby brother.
'It's--it's business,' said Aunt Maria, sniffing.
'I know business is dreadfully bad--father says so,' said Molly. 'Don'tsend me away, auntie; I'll be as quiet as a mouse. I'll just sit andcuddle you till you feel better.'
She got her arms round the aunt's waist, and snuggled her head against athin arm. Aunt Maria had always been one for keeping children in theirproper places. Yet somehow now Molly's proper place seemed to be justwhere she was--where she had never been before.
'You're a kind little girl, Maria,' she said presently.
'I wish I could do something,' said Molly. 'Wouldn't you feel better ifyou told me? They say it does you good not to grieve in solitaryconcealment. I'm sure I could understand if you didn't use long words.'
And, curiously enough, Aunt Maria did tell her, almost exactly what shehad heard from Clements.
'And I know there was a will leaving it all to your father and me,' shesaid; 'I saw it signed. It was witnessed by the butler we had then--hedied the year after--and by Mr. Sheldon: he died, too, out hunting.'
Her voice softened, and Molly snuggled closer and said:
'Poor Mr. Sheldon!'
'He and I were to have been married,' said Aunt Maria suddenly. 'That'shis picture in the hall between the carp and your Great-uncleCarruthers.'
'Poor auntie!' said Molly, thinking of the handsome man in scarlet nextthe stuffed carp--'oh, poor auntie, I do love you so!'
Aunt Maria put an arm round her.
'Oh, my dear,' she said, 'you don't understand. All the happy thingsthat ever happened to me happened here, and all the sad things too; ifthey turn me out I shall die--I know I shall. It's been bad enough,' shewent on, more to herself than to Molly; 'but there's always been thep
lace just as it was when I was a girl, when he used to come here: sobold and laughing he always was. I can see him here quite plainly; I'veonly to shut my eyes. But I couldn't see him anywhere else.'
'Don't wills get hidden away sometimes?' Molly asked; for she had readstories about such things.
'We looked everywhere,' said Aunt Maria--'everywhere. We had detectivesfrom London, because there were things he'd left to other people, and wewanted to carry out his wishes; but we couldn't find it. Uncle must havedestroyed it, and meant to make another, only he never did--he neverdid. Oh, I hope the dead can't see what we suffer! If my UncleCarruthers and dear James could see me turned out of the old place, itwould break their hearts even up in heaven.'
Molly was silent. Suddenly her aunt seemed to awake from a dream.
'Good gracious, child,' she said, 'what nonsense I've been talking! Goaway and play, and forget all about it. Your own troubles will beginsoon enough.'
'I do love you, auntie,' said Molly, and went.
Aunt Maria never unbent again as she had done that evening; but Mollyfelt a difference that made all the difference. She was not afraid ofher aunt now, and she loved her. Besides, things were happening. TheWhite House was now the most interesting place in the world.
Be sure that Molly set to work at once to look for the missing will.London detectives were very careless; she was certain they were. Sheopened drawers and felt in the backs of cupboards; she prodded thepadding of chairs, listening for the crackling of paper inside among thestuffing; she tapped the woodwork of the house all over for secretpanels; but she did not find the will.
She could not believe that her Great-uncle Carruthers would have been sosilly as to burn a will that he knew might be wanted at any moment. Sheused to stand in front of his portrait, and look at it; he did not lookat all silly. And she used to look at the portrait of handsome, laughingMr. Sheldon, who had been killed out hunting instead of marrying AuntMaria, and more than once she said:
'You might tell me where it is; you look as if you knew.'
But he never altered his jolly smile.
Molly thought of missing wills from the moment her eyes opened in themorning to the time when they closed at night.
Then came the dreadful day when Uncle Toodlethwaite and Mr. Bates camedown, and Uncle Toodlethwaite said:
'I'm afraid there's no help for it, Maria; you can delay the thing abit, but you'll have to turn out in the end.'
It was on that night that the wonderful thing happened--the thing thatMolly has never told to anyone except me, because she thought no onecould believe it. She went to bed as usual and to sleep, and she wokesuddenly, hearing someone call 'Molly, Molly!'
She sat up in bed; the room was full of moonlight. As usual her firstwaking thought was of the missing will. Had it been found? Was her auntcalling her to tell the good news? No, the room was quite still. She wasalone.
The moonlight fell full on the old black and red and gold cabinet; that,she had often thought, was just the place where a will would be hidden.It might have a secret drawer, that the London detectives had missed.She had often looked over it carefully, but now she got out of bed andlighted her candle, and went over to the cabinet to have one more look.She opened all the drawers, pressed all the knobs in the carvedbrasswork. There was a little door in the middle; she knew that thelittle cupboard behind it was empty. It had red lacquered walls, and theback wall was looking-glass. She opened the little cupboard, held up hercandle, and looked in. She expected to see her own face in the glass asusual, but she did not see it; instead there was a black space, theopening to something not quite black. She could seelights--candle-lights--and the space grew bigger, or she grew smaller,she never knew which. And next moment she was walking through theopening.
'Now I am going to see something really worth seeing,' said Molly.
She was not frightened--from first to last she was not at allfrightened.
She walked straight through the back of the cabinet in the best bedroomupstairs into the library on the ground-floor. That sounds likenonsense, but Molly declares it was so.
There were candles on the table and papers, and there were people in thelibrary; they did not see her.
There was great-uncle Carruthers and Aunt Maria, very pretty, with longcurls and a striped gray silk dress, like in the picture in thedrawing-room. There was handsome, jolly Mr. Sheldon in a brown coat. Anold servant was just going out of the door.
'That's settled, then,' said Great-uncle Carruthers; 'now, my girl,bed.'
Aunt Maria--such a young, pretty Aunt Maria, Molly would never haveknown her but for the portrait--kissed her uncle, and then she took aChristmas rose out of her dress and put it in Mr. Sheldon's buttonhole,and put up her face to him and said, 'Good-night, James.' He kissed her;Molly heard the loud, jolly sound of the kiss, and Aunt Maria went away.
Then the old man said: 'You'll leave this at Bates' for me, Sheldon;you're safer than the post.'
Handsome Mr. Sheldon said he would. Then the lights went out, and Mollywas in bed again.
Quite suddenly it was daylight. Jolly Mr. Sheldon, in his red coat, wasstanding by the cabinet. The little cupboard door was open.
'By George!' he said, 'it's ten days since I promised to take that willup to Bates, and I never gave it another thought. All your fault, Maria,my dear. You shouldn't take up all my thoughts; 'I'll take itto-morrow.'
Molly heard something click, and he went out of the room whistling.
Molly lay still. She felt there was more to come. And the next thing wasthat she was looking out of the window, and saw something carried acrossthe lawn on a hurdle with two scarlet coats laid over it, and she knewit was handsome Mr. Sheldon, and that he would not carry the will toBates to-morrow, or do anything else in this world ever any more.
When Molly woke in the morning she sprang out of bed and ran to thecabinet. There was nothing in the looking-glass cupboard.
All the same, she ran straight to her aunt's room. It was long beforethe hour when Clements soberly tapped, bringing hot water.
'Wake up, auntie!' she cried.
And auntie woke up, very cross indeed.
'Look here, auntie,' she said, 'I'm certain there's a secret place inthat cabinet in my room, and the will's in it; I know it is.'
'You've been dreaming,' said Aunt Maria severely; 'go back to bed.You'll catch your death of cold paddling about barefoot like that.'
Molly had to go, but after breakfast she began again.
'But why do you think so?' asked Aunt Maria.
And Molly, who thought she knew that nobody would believe her story,could only say:
'I don't know, but I am quite sure.'
'Nonsense!' said Aunt Maria.
'Aunty,' Molly said, 'don't you think uncle might have given the will toMr. Sheldon to take to Mr. Bates, and he may have put it in the secretplace and forgotten?'
'What a head the child's got--full of fancies!' said Aunt Maria.
'If he slept in that room--did he ever sleep in that room?'
'Always, whenever he stayed here.'
'Was it long after the will-signing that poor Mr. Sheldon died?'
'Ten days,' said Aunt Maria shortly; 'run away and play. I've letters towrite.'
But because it seemed good to leave no stone unturned, one of thoseletters was to a cabinet-maker in Rochester, and the groom took it inthe dog-cart, and the cabinet-maker came back with him.
And there _was_ a secret hiding-place behind the looking-glass in thelittle red lacquered cupboard in the old black and red and gold cabinet,and in that secret hiding-place was the missing will, and on it lay abrown flower that dropped to dust when it was moved.
'It's a Christmas rose,' said Molly.
* * * * *
'So, you see, really it was a very good thing the others pretended tohave measles, because if they hadn't I shouldn't have come to you, andif I hadn't come I shouldn't have known there was a will missing, and ifI hadn't known tha
t I shouldn't have found it, should I, aunty, shouldI, uncle?' said Molly, wild with delight.
'No, dear,' said Aunt Maria, patting her hand.
'Little girls,' said Uncle Toodlethwaite, 'should be seen and not heard.But I admit that simulated measles may sometimes be a blessing indisguise.'
All the young Carruthers thought so when they got the five pounds thatAunt Maria sent them. Miss Simpshall got five pounds too because it wasowing to her that Molly was taken to the White House that day. Molly gota little pearl necklace as well as five pounds.
'Mr. Sheldon gave it to me,' said Aunt Maria. 'I wouldn't give it toanyone but you.'
Molly hugged her in silent rapture.
That just shows how different our Aunt Marias would prove to be if theywould only let us know them as they really are. It really is not wise toconceal _everything_ from children.
You see, if Aunt Maria had not told Molly about Mr. Sheldon, she wouldnever have thought about him enough to see his ghost. Now Molly is grownup she tells me it was only a dream. But even if it was it is just aswonderful, and served the purpose just as well.
Perhaps you would like to know what Aunt Maria said when thecabinet-maker opened the secret hiding-place and she saw the paper withthe brown Christmas rose on it? Clements was there, as well as thecabinet-maker and Molly. She said right out before them all, 'Oh, James,my dear!' and she picked up the flower before she opened the will. Andit fell into brown dust in her hand.
