Part 28 (1/2)
”'Matilda told such awful lies, It made you gasp and stretch your eyes.
Her aunt, who from her earliest youth Had kept a strict regard for truth, Attempted to believe Matilda-- The effort very nearly killed her.'
”Good-by, Carmel! Keep my bad young sister in order if you can. She needs some one to look after her.” And Everard, with a hand on Rajah's bridle, nodded smilingly after the girls as they ran towards the house in response to the clanging school-bell.
The rest of the summer term at Chilcombe Hall seemed to pa.s.s very rapidly away, and the s.p.a.ce in this book is not enough to tell all that the girls did during those weeks of June suns.h.i.+ne and July heat. There were tennis tournaments and archery contests, cricket matches, picnics and strawberry feasts, as well as the more sober business of lessons, examinations, and a concert to which parents were invited. To Carmel it was the pleasantest term she had spent at school, for she had settled down now into English ways, and did not so continually feel the call of her Sicilian home. The ”Hostage,” as Dulcie still sometimes laughingly called her, if she pined for the Casa Bianca, had contrived to make herself happy in her northern surroundings, and had won favor with everybody. School girls do not often make a fuss, but, when breaking-up day arrived, and the Ingletons drove away in their car, a chorus of cheers followed them from the doorstep, and, though the hoorays were given to all three without discrimination, there is no doubt that they were mainly intended for Carmel.
”She's a sport!” said Gowan, waving in reply to the white handkerchief that fluttered a farewell. ”I don't know any chum I like better. She always plays the game somehow, doesn't she?”
”Rather!” agreed Noreen. ”I think the way she's taken her place at Cheverley Chase without cuckooing all that family out, or making them jealous, is just marvelous. If anybody deserves her kingdom, it's Princess Carmel; it's only one in a thousand who could have done what she has.”
Carmel, indeed, though an unacknowledged sovereign, had managed to win all hearts at the Chase. Even Lilias did not now resent the owners.h.i.+p of one who so rarely urged her own claims; insensibly she had grown fond of her cousin, and liked her company.
The summer holiday promised to be as pleasant as that of last Christmas.
Mr. Stacey, who had taken his vacation in June and July, had returned to Cheverley in time to greet Roland, Bevis, and Clifford, a welcome state of affairs to Cousin Clare, for the three lively boys were almost beyond her management, and needed the kindly authority which the tutor knew so well how to wield without friction. All sorts of plans for enjoyment were in the air, a visit to the sea, a motor tour, a garden party, a tennis tournament, a cricket match, even a dance at the Chase, when one day something quite unexpected occurred, something which changed the entire course of events, and threw the thoughts of the holiday makers into a new channel. Like many extraordinary happenings, it came about in quite an ordinary way.
Carmel had left her despatch case at school--a small matter, indeed, but fraught with big consequences. As she wanted some convenient safe spot in which to deposit note paper, old letters, sealing wax, stamps, and other such treasures, Cousin Clare allowed her to take possession of a writing-desk which stood on the study table. It had belonged to old Mr.
Ingleton, and he had indeed used it till the day before his death, but it had been emptied of its contents by Mr. Bowden, and was now placed merely as an ornament in the window. It was a large, old-fas.h.i.+oned desk of rosewood, handsomely inlaid with bra.s.s, and lined with purple velvet.
Carmel seized upon it joyfully, and began to transfer some of her many belongings to its hospitable depths. It was well fitted, for there was an ink-pot with a silver top, and a pen-box containing a seal and a silver pen. Mr. Bowden had left these when he removed the papers, probably considering them as part and parcel of the desk. Carmel lifted out the ink-pot to admire its cover, but, though it came out fairly easily, it was a difficult matter to fit it in again. In pus.h.i.+ng it back into its place she pulled heavily upon the small wooden division between its socket and the pen-box. To her utter surprise, her action released a spring, a long narrow panel below the pen-box fell away, and revealed a quite unsuspected secret drawer. She opened it in much excitement.
Inside lay a folded sheet of foolscap paper. Her exclamation had called Lilias and Dulcie from the other side of the room, and all three girls admired and wondered at the contrivance of the secret drawer. Together they took out the sheet of paper, unfolded it, and bent their heads over it.
”Why, it's Grandfather's writing!” exclaimed Lilias as she read the first words:--
”This is the last will and testament of me Leslie Ingleton of Cheverley Chase near Balderton.”
”It's surely not another will?” fluttered Dulcie.
Carmel said nothing; her eyes were devouring the contents of the paper.
She read it through carefully to the end, then she asked:
”What was the date of the will in which Grandfather left the Chase to me? Was it not some time in January? Well, this is certainly a later date. It must have been signed the very day before he died!”
”Does it make any difference?” inquired Dulcie breathlessly.
Carmel had taken the paper away from her cousins, and stood in the window mastering the meaning of the legal language. She read a certain pa.s.sage over and over again carefully before she answered. Then she looked out through the study window--that window with its wonderful view over the whole range of the Ingleton property--she gazed at the gardens and woods and fields that for more than a year had been hers, and hers alone, the estate which to claim as heiress she had been brought from her Sicilian home.
”All the difference in the world,” she said quietly. ”Grandfather changed his mind at the last, and left the Chase to Everard after all!”
”To Everard?”