The Girls of Chequertrees

by Marion St. John Webb

  *CHAPTER XIX*

  *BERYL CONFESSES*

  Beryl looked down at the surprised and inquiring faces gazing up at her,and her new-found courage flickered for a moment--and she had thoughtthe struggle for courage was over; but only for a moment did she pauseand twist her fingers nervously together. Now she had burnt her boatsshe must go through with it.

  "I--I--oh, Miss Crabingway--I didn't know--I never guessed you wantedme--but I can see things clearly now. You thought out such a kind planto help me a bit and give me happiness--and I have been happy here--inspite of everything. But--oh, how can I tell you--I have failed you, theonly one of the four of us who has failed you. Instead of growingstronger in character I have grown weaker--I know I have.... I havebeen so afraid to tell the truth. I thought--I thought Isobel woulddespise me if she knew I'd been to a Council school..."

  Isobel started.

  "... if she knew my Aunt Laura kept a small and shabby shop and servedbehind the counter; if she knew," her voice dropped, "where my fatherdied.... I felt out of place in this house at first among these otherswho had nice clothes and manners--my clothes were all wrong....Pamela--Pamela has been a brick--I told her something about all this,and she helped me not to mind. But I've said so many things that werenot true since I've been here--I'm telling the truth now, though, I amindeed. And, oh, I'm so sorry--I couldn't help it--but I--I have seenand spoken to my Aunt Laura several times since I've been here."

  "What!" exclaimed Miss Crabingway. Had, then, the thing that she hadtaken such trouble to avoid happened after all?

  "Yes," said Beryl. "A few weeks ago I came suddenly face to face withher one dark night--the night we returned from London, in the rain--youremember?" She half turned toward Pamela, then went on quickly: "Ididn't speak to her then. I was frightened, and ran on quickly to jointhe others who were a little way ahead. When I got home I discoveredthat while we had all been out my Aunt Laura must have got into thehouse and made her way to my bedroom, where she had left a note for me."

  Caroline leant forward at this point.

  "You were quite right in thinking some one had been in your room thatnight, Caroline. She mistook it for mine, and in rummaging about to seeif she could find any indication to show that it was my room shedisarranged some of your things. I'm so thankful she didn't takeanything from your room--she might have done, you know, but luckily youhadn't left any money lying about. It was money she wanted. In the notewhich she was afraid to send through the post, but left in my roominstead, she told me that I must let her have five pounds immediately,or she would be summoned--and might have to go to prison. And then whatwould people think of me, she said, living in luxury and letting myaunt, who had brought me up like her own daughter, go to prison! Themoney was very urgently needed, she said, and she told me where and whenI could meet her outside the village and hand her the money.... So I mether," Beryl went on in a dreary voice, "and handed her the money I hadrecently received as pocket-money--but it wasn't enough.... Afterwardshe wanted more money--and at last I had to borrow a pound fromPamela--who was good enough to trust me and ask no questions--and I lentthis to my aunt as well. She made me promise, on my honour, never totell a soul about this money-lending, or about her speaking to me, as ifI did I should lose the fifty pounds, and it was very important that Ishould not do this, she said; no one would ever know about her coming tosee me--for, of course, no one knew her in the village. When she camedown to Barrowfield she would generally stop the night, sometimes twonights, at that little cottage opposite--so that she could watch me, andwait her opportunity to get money. She knew she could frighten me intodoing what she wanted--and she did frighten me--shadowed me--followed meabout.... It was she who was up at the Wishing Well that night,Pamela--do you remember? Aunt Laura only came down hereoccasionally--whenever she wanted more money. For a long time after Iwas here I never dreamt she was anywhere near the village.... I--Ithink, from what she has said to me, that she thought it very unfair forme to have anything that Cousin Laura couldn't share--and was awfullyangry because I couldn't give her more money; she had got it into herhead that there was a lot of money to be had here, and she hated theidea of Pamela, Isobel, and Caroline having any money that might havecome to me--and so to her, and Cousin Laura.... Oh, Miss Crabingway, Inever knew the truth about you wanting to adopt me." Beryl had hardwork to keep her voice steady. "She never told me you had wanted toadopt me.... But it's a good job you didn't--now that you know what Iam.... Oh, I hate myself," she burst out passionately, and the tearswhich she had kept back for so long sprang to her eyes and beganrolling, unheeded, down her cheeks. "It's all been such a muddle oflittle deceitful things--and all for a few wretched sovereigns.... I'vebroken my word to you, and I've broken my promise to my aunt, and toldyou everything now--and may this be the last promise I shall everbreak."

  Poor Beryl had been so long in fear of her Aunt Laura and what she mightdo, and had brooded on the whole matter so much, that she hadexaggerated everything in her own mind until it had assumed giantproportions; she felt she had forfeited all right to respect from theothers, and had spoilt the great chance of her life--the chance of beingadopted by Miss Crabingway. Beryl had certainly been weak, and had toldstories, and had broken her word to Miss Crabingway and to heraunt--still, that was the extent of her misdoings.

  Miss Crabingway, looking at her, thought that things had been made toohard for Beryl. If only there had been somebody to stand by her andhelp her--Miss Crabingway pulled herself up sharply. Had she made amistake in thinking that all girls need to develop their characterwithout any outside help and control? It might answer in three casesout of four; but there was always the fourth case--the girl who had nothad the advantages of a happy, fearless childhood. It was fear, fear ofsome one or something, that made people deceitful and made them telluntruths. Miss Crabingway felt a rush of keen disappointment that herplans had been spoilt, that the one girl for whom she had taken so muchtrouble had failed her. And yet Miss Crabingway felt that she herselfwas more to blame than Beryl. She might have known that Beryl's auntwould try to obtain money from the child, if she thought she had any.She might have known that Beryl would not have had an upbringing thatwould have taught her to be frank and fearless if it came to keeping herword to Miss Crabingway and facing the consequences of her aunt's wrath,had Beryl refused to answer her request for money.... Beryl had beenoutspoken enough now that the end had come ... and the consequences...?

  Meanwhile the silence which had followed her last words had becomeunbearable to Beryl. Burying her face in her hands--she was crying inearnest now--she passed quickly out of the room, and the door clickedsharply behind her.

  Pamela half rose, as if to follow her.

  "Yes, do," said Miss Crabingway huskily, and stood up herself. "Tellher--everything will be all right. Poor child! She's not toblame--it's I--I might have known her Aunt Laura wouldn't leave heralone.... Where did she say the woman stayed? ... I wonder if she'sthere now by any chance? ... I'm going to see."

  And while Pamela went in search of Beryl Miss Crabingway strode hatlessacross the green in search of the woman with the limp, leaving Carolineand Isobel to discuss the whole affair in detail.

  What Miss Crabingway said to Beryl's aunt, whom she found on the vergeof departure from the little white cottage with the green shutters, itis not necessary to record. It is sufficient that she gave Aunt Lauraso stern a dressing-down that at the end of half an hour Aunt Laura wasreduced to a meek acceptance of Miss Crabingway's terms. The auntconfessed to Miss Crabingway how, when Beryl had come to Barrowfield,she had followed her down by the next train, and by good fortune haddiscovered the little house opposite Chequertrees where apartments wereto be had. And so she had put up there from time to time while herdaughter Laura looked after the shop at Enfield, so that she could watchwhat Beryl was doing 'playing the lady' while her poor Cousin Lauraserved bacon and rice and currants in the stuffy l
ittle shop. On CousinLaura's account, "poor, dear, good girl," she seemed to resent greatlyMiss Crabingway's choice of Beryl, and thought she was justified ingetting all she could from Beryl, considering that she had brought herup like her own daughter ever since Beryl's mother had died.

  "And now she's spoilt all her chances--and mine as well," said AuntLaura. "Tell her to pack up her things and come home with me in half anhour. I was just about to start off myself, not knowing----"

  "That I would be back sooner than you expected--you didn't wish to meetme, I presume?" said Miss Crabingway.

  "You bet," said Aunt Laura, inelegantly. "My poor little Laura's workedto death in the shop, so you go and tell that haughty miss to pack upquick and come along home with me."

  But nothing was further from Miss Crabingway's mind. She was determinedto give Beryl another chance. And so she told Aunt Laura, much to thelatter's surprise. They talked the matter over again, and after muchhaggling on Aunt Laura's part, and threats on Miss Crabingway's part,and arguments on both sides, they at length came to a hard and fastagreement.

  The result of which was that Miss Crabingway returned to Chequertrees togreet Beryl as her newly-adopted niece, while Aunt Laura limped away tothe station with her purse a little heavier than when she came, and tookthe train back to Enfield and Cousin Laura. She limped away out ofBeryl's life and out of this story once and for all.

  And so Beryl's Wishing Well wish came true.

  *CHAPTER XX*

  *A NEW BEGINNING*

  That same day, in the afternoon, a group of happy people were gatheredon the lawn chatting together in Miss Crabingway's garden--for theguests she had invited were no others than Pamela's mother and Michaeland Doris; Isobel's mater and brother Gerald, and Lady Prior and her twodaughters; and Caroline's mother--a plump, placid little soul,remarkably like her daughter in appearance. Miss Crabingway had thoughtthis little surprise would please the girls--and it would be nicer forthem to travel home with their own people.

  Miss Crabingway admitted to herself that she would have liked all thegirls to stay a few days longer, so that she could get to know thembetter, but all arrangements had been made and she could not upset themat the last moment.

  The only person, of course, who had no relatives to meet her at thegarden party was Beryl. But to judge from her happy, smiling face asshe helped to hand round the tea she did not regret this fact. Hergratitude to Miss Crabingway was deep and sincere, and she meant to doall in her power to live up to the best that was in her. She and MissCrabingway had had a long and serious talk together in the earlyafternoon, which ended in mutual expectations of a happier future forboth of them. Though Beryl had lost her fifty pounds, she had gained farmore in Miss Crabingway's friendship; and, although she did not knowthis at present, Miss Crabingway had made up her mind to give Beryl afairly substantial pocket-money allowance now that she was her properlyadopted niece. Beryl was to continue her musical studies--that hadalready been arranged.

  Freed from the shadow of Aunt Laura, and the bullying and the secretthreats, Beryl felt a different girl--and looked it too. Her only tingeof sorrow was the parting with Pamela--but even that was to be only fora time. Later on Pamela was to come and stop with her for a holiday,and she and Miss Crabingway were to visit Pamela's home.

  As for Pamela, she was in a real 'beamy' mood this afternoon at havingmother and Michael and Doris with her again. She showed them all overthe place, pointing out her favourite spots. She even found anopportunity of introducing them to Elizabeth Bagg.

  "I'm so glad you've seen everything and everybody," she said. "Now youwill be able to see things in your mind's eye when I talk about them."

  During the afternoon Michael tried to get into conversation withIsobel's brother Gerald, who was about his age, but found it difficultwork, as Gerald was far more interested in his own immaculate clothes,and smooth hair, his cigarette, and the various girls present, than hewas in Michael or anything Michael had to say.

  Isobel and her mater hung delightedly on Lady Prior's words, and as theysat in the shade of the trees at the end of the lawn, an invitation tocome and stay at the Manor House sometime in the near future was givento Isobel, and accepted eagerly.

  Caroline methodically piloted her mother round the house and garden, andpresently left her talking to Mrs Heath while she went indoors at asignal from Pamela, who whispered, "Miss Crabingway wants us a minute."

  In the drawing-room Pamela, Caroline, and Isobel found awaiting themMiss Crabingway and Mr Joseph Sigglesthorne (who had just arrived).With due solemnity the girls were each presented with a cheque for fiftypounds, and the news was broken to Mr Sigglesthorne that he was to goand have his photograph taken, at which he looked very crestfallen.

  There was just one other little incident that took place before theafternoon came to a close--it had been crowded out of the morning'sevents.

  The girls gave Miss Crabingway the small gifts they had made for her:Pamela, a sketch of Chequertrees; Caroline, a hand-embroideredtray-cloth; Beryl, a waltz which she had composed herself, and hadcopied out in a manuscript music-book. She offered it to MissCrabingway very shyly and with much diffidence. "It's the only thing Icould do myself," she said apologetically. Isobel presented herphotographs, enlarged and handsomely framed; they were photographs ofthe other three girls in the garden. Miss Crabingway was immenselypleased and touched by the girls' thought for her. Something of theirown work; she could not have wished for anything better, she said, andthanked them warmly.

  To Martha and Ellen each of the girls gave a little gift, such as a pairof gloves, and handkerchiefs, and bottles of eau-de-Cologne, and inaddition each gave a photograph of herself (having overheard Marthaexpress a wish for the photographs).

  "Just in case you forget what I look like and don't recognize me nexttime I knock at the front door," said Pamela laughingly to Martha.

  "Oh, Miss Pamela, just as if I'd forget you," said Martha. "But youcouldn't have thought of a better present, or one that would please memore, and I thank you and I shall value it greatly. What _is_ nicer thana nice photograph, I always say."

  And now dusk has fallen and all is silent in Miss Crabingway's garden.The laughter and voices have died away, and far away through the nightrushes a train bearing Pamela, her mother, and Michael and Doris,homeward. Mr Heath is waiting at Marylebone Station to meet them, andOlive and John have been allowed to stay up an hour later than usual inorder to welcome home their long-absent sister.

  In another train Caroline and her mother journey back to the busy littleprovincial town where they live. While Isobel, seated beside her mater,with a cosy coat wrapped round her, whirls along the country lanes inthe motor which brother Gerald is driving.

  An old gentleman climbs into a crowded bus at Charing Cross; he has aremarkably high, bald forehead, which becomes visible when he removeshis hat; he stands holding on to a strap in the bus, his thoughts faraway. He is thinking of a little country village, and in the midst ofall the bustle and life of London he feels suddenly lonely. The busrattles on toward the Temple--and he thinks of his deserted,paper-strewn room in Fig Tree Court, and he is overcome by a great waveof pity for himself; he begins to feel exceedingly sorry for himself.Suddenly his expression changes to one of dismay and exasperation--hehas remembered that he must visit a photographer to-morrow.

  At the same moment, far away down at Barrowfield, there is a light inthe drawing-room of Chequertrees, and some one is playing softly on thepiano. Miss Crabingway sits on the couch by the fire, a book in herhands--but she is not reading. She is looking across at the girl who isplaying the piano and her eyes are full of dreams.

  The red blind in the dining-room, where supper is being laid for two,shines warmly out from among the rustling leaves that are whisperinground the house--just as it did six months ago. But to-night the windowof the little white cottage opposite is dark, and there is no onewatching the red blind.

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  _Uniform with this Volume_

  *ROCK BOTTOM*

  By QUEENIE SCOTT-HOPPER. Illustrated in Colour by A. A. NASH.

  *ANGEL UNAWARES*

  By QUEENIE SCOTT-HOPPER. Illustrated in Colour and Half-tone by PERCYTARRANT.

  *THE MYSTERY OF BARWOOD HALL*

  By OLIVIA FOWELL. Illustrated in Colour by SAVILE LUMLEY.

  *WINIFRED AVON*

  By MABEL MARLOWE. Illustrated in Colour by SAVILE LUMLEY.

  *THE TAMING OF TAMZIN*

  By ESME STUART. Illustrated in Colour by HELEN JACOBS.

  *A COTTAGE ROSE*

  By MABEL QUILLER-COUCH. Illustrated in Colour by PERCY TARRANT.

  *LITTLE MOTHER*

  By RUTH MACARTHUR. Illustrated in Colour and Half-tone.