Part 11 (2/2)

Poor Carmel was still feeling too much upset to relish dancing, but Mr.

Bowden pressed the point, and other guests joined their persuasions, so finally it was decided to give at least a portion of the second part of the program, and the audience again took their seats on the lawn, leaving several people, however, to guard the house.

”It's not likely there'll be another burglar on the same afternoon; still, he might have accomplices about,” said Miss Walters. ”I shall never feel really safe again, I'm afraid. We shall all be horribly nervous for a long time.”

Only the most striking items in Part II were selected for performance, as it was growing late, and most of the guests would soon have to take their leave. There was an affecting tableau of the parting of the widowed Queen of Edward IV from her little son, Richard, Duke of York; a charming pageant of the old street cries of London, in which dainty maidens in eighteenth-century costumes appeared with bunches of ”Sweet Lavender,” and baskets of ”Cherry Ripe,” and, after singing the appropriate songs, went the round of the audience and sold their wares.

Noreen, who was the star of the elocution cla.s.s, recited a poem describing the sad experience of a typical little waif, and his reception in the Home. It was a pretty piece, and had been composed expressly for the Society by a lady who often wrote for magazines.

Then, last of all, came Carmel's Sicilian dance. Miss Lowe had fortunately been able to obtain the score of the Pastorale, and with music and costume complete the performance was an even greater success than it had been on the terrace at Bradstone. People clapped the little figure, partly for her charming dancing and partly for her pluck in trapping the burglar, so that altogether she received quite an ovation.

”We shan't forget the 'Waifs and Strays' afternoon in a hurry,” said Lilias, as she tidied her possessions afterwards, for it was _her_ drawer that the burglar had turned upside down in his search for valuables. ”I feel I want to sleep with a revolver under my pillow!”

”If you did, I'd be far more afraid of you than of the burglar!”

protested Bertha. ”I know you'd let it off at the wrong person. I don't suppose anybody else is likely to come burgling here, so you needn't alarm yourself!”

”But if they do, Miss Wiseacre?”

”Then I should turn them over into the dressing-room, to be dealt with at her discretion by Princess Carmel!” laughed Bertha. ”I believe she's equal to catching one of them in a mousetrap if she gets the opportunity!”

CHAPTER IX

The Open Road

It was fortunate for Carmel that her first experience of England should come in the spring and early summer. Had she arrived straight from sunny Sicily to face autumn rains or winter snows, I verily believe her courage would have failed, and she would have written an urgent and imploring appeal to be fetched home. For the white, vine-covered house that looked over the blue waters of the Mediterranean was still essentially ”home” to Carmel. She had been born and bred in the south, and though one half of her was purely English, there was another side that was strongly Italian. She was deeply attached to all her relations and friends in Sicily, and from her point of view it was exile to live so far away from them. The fact that she was owner of the Chase was, in her estimation, no compensation whatever for her banishment from ”Casa Bianca.” She made a very sweet and gentle little heiress, however. As yet she was mistress only in name, for during her minority everything was left in the hands of Mr. Bowden and a certain Canon Lowe, who were guardians to all Mr. Ingleton's grandchildren, and kept the Chase open as a home for them. The three girls returned there from Chilcombe Hall at the end of the term, and were joined by the younger boys from their preparatory school.

For a week or two they enjoyed themselves in the grounds and the park.

There was much to show Carmel, and she was happy sitting in the garden or wandering in the woods. She soon made friends with the people on the estate. The gamekeeper's children would come running out to meet her, and stand round smiling while she hunted in her pocket for chocolates; Milner's little girl adored her, and even the shy baby at the lodge waxed friendly. Carmel was intensely fond of children, and the affection which she had bestowed on younger brothers and sisters at home cropped out on every occasion where her life touched that of smaller people. To Roland, Bevis, and Clifford she was a charming companion. She would go walks with them in the woods, help them to arrange their various collections of b.u.t.terflies, foreign stamps, and picture post cards, and play endless games of draughts, halma, or bagatelle.

”You slave after those boys as if you were their nursery governess!”

remarked Lilias one day, just a little nettled that Clifford ran instinctively to Carmel for sympathy instead of to his sister. ”I promised to help them with those caterpillar boxes to-morrow, and so I will, if you'll leave them. I really can't be bothered to-day.”

Carmel yielded instantly. Part of her intense charm was the ready tact with which she was careful never to usurp the place of any one else. She put aside the muslin that was to form covers for the boxes, and slipped her scissors back into the case.

Clifford, however, who was a budding naturalist, and most keen on collecting, was highly disgusted.

”I want my boxes to-day!” he wailed. ”I've no place to put my caterpillars when I find them. They crawl out of the old boxes. Why shouldn't Carmel make me some? I know hers would be beauties.”

”Lilias will make you some nicer ones to-morrow,” urged his cousin.

”Suppose we take our b.u.t.terfly nets on to the heath to-day, and try to find some 'blues.' You haven't a really nice specimen, you know. And I think we might find some moths on the trees in the wood, if we look about carefully. It's worth trying, isn't it?”

”Oh yes! Do let us! Shall we start now?” agreed Clifford, much mollified.

On the whole the three girls got along excellently, but if there was any hint at disturbance it generally arose from Lilias, whose pride would be up in arms at the most absurd trifles. She was annoyed that Carmel was asked to give away the prizes at the village sports, and showed her dissatisfaction so plainly that her sweet-tempered cousin, rather than have any fuss, solved the situation by asking Cousin Clare to perform the ceremony instead, considerably to the disappointment of the committee, who had thought the new heiress was the appropriate patroness.

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