Part 13 (1/2)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

FRIENDS AT LAST!

There was a constant coming and going at The Deanery during the whole of that day, and the very atmosphere seemed full of excitement. Mrs Faucit, however, kept Mildred a prisoner in her own room, gave her an interesting book to read, and forbade the subject of the robbery to be mentioned in her hearing, with the result that by evening she was herself once more, chatting with the girls, and only lapsing into melancholy at the remembrance of poor, unhappy Cecile.

The next morning Mildred saw Lady Sarah for the first time since the eventful moment when she had started on her search for James's bedroom.

The old lady was sitting in her favourite corner by the drawing-room window, wrapped in shawls, and supported by pillows, for at her advanced age such an experience as she had known was not easily outlived, and as Mildred paced the garden walks with her friends, she received a message to the effect that Lady Sarah wished to see her alone for a few minutes, as she had something particular to say.

”My thanks are due, Most kind and generous maiden, unto you!” quoted Lois, from a play which had been performed at school at the beginning of the Christmas holidays, and Mildred gave a little laugh of complacency.

The quotation sounded appropriately in her ears, for she had no doubt that she was summoned to hear grateful acknowledgment for the help which she had given on the night of the attempted robbery. As she walked across the lawn towards the house, she was rehearsing the scene to herself, after a habit of her own on occasions like the present. ”My dear Mildred! How can I thank you sufficiently!” Lady Sarah, she imagined, cried enthusiastically.

”Oh, pray, don't mention it! I have done nothing at all!”

She screwed her face into the very smile of polite protest with which she would give her answer, and was proceeding to invent an emphatic disclaimer from Lady Sarah, when she came face to face with the Benjamin of the household--little, mischievous Erroll, who was strolling about the garden in search of adventure.

He wore a holland blouse, and absurd little knickerbockers about six inches long, from beneath which his bare legs emerged brown and st.u.r.dy.

A scarlet cap was perched on the back of his head, and he swung his arms as he walked with the air of a Grenadier Guard, and a very fierce and warlike one at that. Mildred pinched his ear as she pa.s.sed, as a mark of affectionate remembrance, whereupon Erroll lifted his funny little face to hers, and volunteered a piece of information.

”I telled Yady Saraw about ze pump!”

”The pump!” Mildred's heart gave a leap of apprehension. She seized the child by the arm and held him firmly until he had answered her question. ”What pump? What do you mean, Erroll?”

”Wat zo pumped ze water wif, on ze window!” said Erroll pleasantly.

He evidently had no idea that Mildred would be discomposed by the intelligence, and was a good deal astonished at the hasty manner in which she shook him off and resumed her walk to the house.

Here, indeed, was a changed position. She was going to be scolded, not thanked--called to account for misdeeds, not praised for valour.

Mildred pressed her lips together, and her eyes shone with a gleam of anger.

The more exciting events of the last two days had thrown the picnic into the background, so that she had almost forgotten the unfortunate incident to which Erroll had referred. It had troubled her greatly at the time, but since then she had had an opportunity of ”making up”, which should surely have condoned any previous offence. ”Lady Sarah need not have said anything about it; even if she were told. She might have forgiven a little thing like that, when I have perhaps saved her life,” she told herself angrily. ”I believe she is glad to have something to blame me for, so that she may avoid saying anything nice or grateful!”

Mildred felt thoroughly cross and out of sorts, as was not altogether unnatural under the circ.u.mstances. When one has been treated as a heroine for a couple of days, it comes as an unpleasant shock to find one's self suddenly dragged down from the pedestal and compelled to appear in the character of a culprit. Mildred felt it very hard indeed, and the softened feeling with which she had thought of the old lady during the last forty-eight hours vanished at once, and gave place to the old bitter enmity.

Lady Sarah had seen the girl's encounter with Erroll, so that she was at no loss to understand the sudden change in her expression, as she drew near. They looked at one another in silence for several minutes--Lady Sarah with her brows drawn together, yet on the whole more anxious than angry; Mildred erect as a dart, her head thrown back in defiant fas.h.i.+on.

”Is this true, may I ask, what the child tells me--that you played the hose on my bedroom window the other morning, in order to make me believe it was raining?”

Lady Sarah sat upright on her chair, her hands clasped together on her lap. The morning light gave a livid hue to the worn features, the bones in her neck seemed more prominent than ever. ”But it is not my fault if she is old,” was Mildred's obstinate comment. ”She can't blame me for that, I suppose?”

”Yes, it's quite true.”

”It is true! You heard me say that I was afraid of my rheumatism, and tried to persuade me that it was raining so that I might stay at home.

You knew I was anxious to go, and you deliberately set to work to prevent me. Nice behaviour, indeed! I wonder you have the audacity to look in my face and acknowledge it!”

”I never tell lies,” said the girl proudly, and Lady Sarah interrupted with a harsh laugh.