The Children of Wilton Chase

Just then, while her anger was at its height, she heard a low whistle under the open window. She rushed over to it, and popped out her head. Basil was standing underneath.

"Don't, Basil," said Ermengarde; "do go away, please. I hate you to find me here a prisoner."

"Oh, stuff, Ermie, don't be tragic over it. It's only for a day at the most, and what's a day?"

"What's a day? One of your holidays – the first of your holidays!"

"Well, there are lots more to follow. Bear it with a good grace. It will soon be over."

"Basil, I thought you had gone with the others."

"I wasn't ready, and Maggie has promised to send the boat back for me."

"Maggie! As if she could give orders."

"She can remind other people though. I'd back Maggie any day never to forget what a fellow wants."

"Oh, yes, she's first with everyone. It's a very nasty stifling hot day."

"Poor Ermie, you're cross, so you see everything distorted. You know whose pet you are, as well as possible – and the day is perfect, superb."

"Am I really your pet, Basil?"

"You conceited puss, you know you are. So is Maggie, too. She's a little darling."

The latter part of Basil's speech brought the cloud once again to Ermengarde's face.

"Oh, of course Maggie is everyone's pet," she said.

Her brother interrupted her. "Don't begin that nonsense over again, Ermie; it's too childish. You are under punishment, I don't know for what. Of course I'm awfully vexed. But why abuse poor little Mag? I say, though, do you like apples?"

"Apples? Pretty well."

"You mean awfully. I have brought you some beauties."

"How can I get them? I'm a prisoner here."

"Oh, rot about your being a prisoner. Well, fair lady, you see if your knight can't come to your assistance. Now, catch!"

He threw up a small piece of cord which he had weighted with lead. Ermengarde secured it.

"Pull, pull away! You will soon be in possession of the spoil."

Ermengarde pulled, and presently a dainty basket, which she recognized as Marjorie's most treasured receptacle for her working things, was grasped by her willing hands.

"Now, good-by, Ermie. I'm off. The boat will be back by now. Of course I shan't botanize without you to-day, never fear. By-by; eat your apples, and reflect on the shortness of a single day."

Basil bounded across the lawn, cleared the haha at the end, and disappeared from view.

His interview with Ermengarde had both a soothing and a tonic effect on her. She felt almost cheerful as she sat by the open window, and munched her apples. That basket contained more than apples. There was one large peach, and two slices of rich plumcake were stowed away under the fruit. Then, perhaps dearest possession of all, Marjorie's own special copy of "Alice in Wonderland" lay at the bottom of the basket.

After making a hearty meal of the fruit and cake, Ermengarde drew Miss Nelson's own easy-chair in front of the window, and taking up Marjorie's book began to read. She felt almost comfortable now; the punishment was not so unbearable when a brother sympathized and a sister lent of her best. The precious little copy of "Alice" had received a stain from the juice of the peach, and Ermengarde tried to wipe it out, and felt sorry for its owner.

After all Marjorie was good-natured, and if she had been base enough to tell, she had at least the grace to be sorry afterward. Ermengarde thought she would ask Marjorie when she had told, how she had told, and where. She felt that she must believe her little sister, for no one had ever heard even the semblance of an untruth Marjorie's honest lips.

Ermengarde sat on, and tried to lose herself in Alice's adventures. She was not at all sorry for her disobedience of the day before, but she was no longer in a state of despair, for her punishment seemed finite, and but for the thought of the wild happiness of the others, her present state was scarcely unendurable.

Just then, raising her eyes, she saw a little girl walking down one of the side-paths which led round to the kitchens. She was a girl scarcely as tall as herself, neatly dressed in a pink cotton frock and white sun-bonnet. Her legs were encased in nice black stockings, and her small dainty feet wore shining shoes with buckles. Ermengarde instantly dropped her book, leaned half out of the window, and called in a loud voice, "Susy – Susy – Susan Collins! come here!"

Little Susan raised an extremely pretty face, blushed, laughed, and ran gayly forward.

"Is that you, Miss Ermengarde?" she said. "I thought you were away with the others. Father has helped to take them up to Pearl Island, better than two hours ago now."

"Did they look happy, Susy? Tell me about them. Did you see them go?"

"Yes, miss, I was standing behind the rose-hedge. Miss Maggie, she did laugh wonderful, and Master Eric, he just dashed in to give us his ferrets to take care of for him, miss."

"And was Basil there, Susy?"

"No, miss, they went off without him. I heard father say he'd bring back the boat for Master Basil, and I thought for sure you'd be going with him, miss. I hope, Miss Ermengarde, you ain't ill."

"I'm not ill in body, Susan. But I've been most basely treated. I've been betrayed."

"Oh, my word!" said Susan Collins. She pushed back her sun-bonnet, and revealed her whole charming curly golden head. She was a beautiful little girl, and Ermengarde had long ago made a secret friend of her.

"I've been betrayed, Susy," continued Ermie. "But I can't tell you by whom. Only some one has told tales about me, and so I have been punished, and have been locked up in this room. I'm locked up now; I can't get out. I'm a prisoner!"

Ermengarde felt her woes all the more keenly as she related them. Susy's blue eyes grew bright with pity.

"Ain't it cruel?" she said. "I call it base to punish a lady like you, Miss Ermengarde, and you one of the best of created mortals."

"It's Miss Nelson," said Ermengarde. "She's dreadfully prejudiced; I find it almost impossible to endure her."

"I never did think nothing of that governess," said Susan with vigor. "It ain't for me to say it, but she don't seem fit company for the like of you, Miss Ermengarde. If I was you, I'd pay her out, that I would."

"Oh, I have more than her to pay out," said Ermengarde. "I have been very unkindly treated."

"That you have, miss, I'm sure."

Susy's sympathy was very sweet to Ermengarde. She leaned farther out of the window, and looked down at the pretty little girl.

"I'm glad you were passing, Susy," she said.

"I'll stay for a bit, if you like, miss. I'm in no sort of a hurry."

"I wish you could come and sit with me, Susy; I can't shout to you from the window. People who are passing may hear us."

"That they may, miss. There never was a truer saying than that trees have ears."

Ermengarde looked round her apprehensively. She had been many times forbidden to have any intercourse with Susan Collins, whose father, although he retained his post as gamekeeper, was regarded by Mr. Wilton as a somewhat shady character. Ermengarde fancied she liked Susy because of the little girl's remarkable beauty, but the real reason why her fancy was captivated was because Susy was an adroit flatterer.

When she spoke about trees having ears, Ermengarde glanced to right and left.

"Perhaps you had better go," she said. "I have got into one scrape. I don't want to get into a second."

"There's no one round yet, miss. The men are all at their dinners."

"Well, but some of the house-servants."

"There are none of them in sight, Miss Ermengarde. Do you think I'd get you into trouble on my account? Oh, dear, I wish I could come up and sit with you for a little."

"I wish you could, Susy."

"Well, miss, it's easy done, if you'll only say the word."

"What do you mean? This door is locked. Hudson has to bring me my meals, and no one in all the world can bribe Hudson to open the door."

"I don't want her to, miss. Oh, Miss Ermengarde, you are treated 'ard."

"Yes, Susy, I am treated very hard. Well, as you can't come and keep me company, you had better go away."

"But I can come to you, miss. A locked door won't keep me out. I'll hide my basket of eggs behind that laurel bush, and then I'll be with you in a jiffy."

"Can you really come? What fun! You are a clever girl, Susy."

"You wait and see, miss."

Susan Collins rushed off, adroitly hid her basket, and returning, climbed up an elm tree which happened to grow a few feet from the window, with the lightness and agility of a cat. When she reached a certain bough she lay along it, and propelled herself very gently forward in the direction of the window.

"Now stretch out your two hands, miss."

Ermengarde did so, and in a moment Susy was standing by her side in Miss Nelson's pretty little room.

"My word!" she exclaimed. "I never see'd such a lot of grand things before. Tell me, Miss Ermengarde, do all these fine books and pictures belong to the governess?"

"Oh, yes; those are pictures of Miss Nelson's friends."

"Dear me, what a queer-looking young lady that is, that one in the white dress, and long legs, and the hair done old-fashioned like."

"That?" said Ermengarde. She went over and stood by the mantelpiece, and looked at a large, somewhat faded miniature which held a place of honor among a group of many other pictures and photographs.

"Ain't she a queer-looking child?" said Susy. "Why, she has a look of Miss Nelson herself. Do you know who she is, Miss Ermengarde?"

"No," said Ermengarde. "But I think there's a story about that picture. Marjorie knows. Marjorie has a way of poking and prying into everything. She's awfully inquisitive. I don't interest myself in matters in which I have no concern. Now come over and sit by the window, Susy. You must sit back, so that no one can see us from the grounds; and when Hudson brings my dinner, you must dart into that cupboard just behind us."

"Oh, yes, miss. Hudson won't catch me poaching on these preserves."

Susy was fond of using expressions which belonged to her father's profession. She was a very imaginative child; and one secret of her power over Ermengarde was her ability to tell long and wonderful stories. Horrible, most of these tales were – histories of poachers, which she had partly heard from her father, and partly made up herself. Ermengarde used to hold her breath while she listened. Between these thrilling tales, Susan artfully flattered. It was not necessary to make her compliments too delicate. She could say the same thing every time they met. She could tell Ermengarde that never, since the world was created, was there to be found such another beautiful, clever, and noble little girl as Ermengarde Wilton. Ermie was never tired of hearing these praises.

She was very glad to listen to them now. By the time Susan Collins had been half an hour in the room, Ermie was once more certain that Marjorie had betrayed her, that Miss Nelson was the most tyrannical of mortals, and that she herself was the most ill-used of little girls.

At the end of half an hour Hudson unlocked the door, and brought in some dinner for Ermie. When the key was heard in the lock, Susan hid herself in a deep cupboard which stood behind a screen.

Hudson laid down the tray with Ermengarde's dinner, told her to eat plenty, and retired. As she left the room she said she would return for the tray in half an hour. She did not say any word of sympathy to Ermengarde. Hudson was always on the side of discipline; she thought that the children of the present day sadly needed correction; and when one of the young Wiltons was punished, she generally owned to a sense of rejoicing. That did not, however, prevent her supplying the culprit with an excellent meal, and Ermengarde now raised the covers from a plump duck done to perfection, some green peas, and delicious floury new potatoes. A greengage tart, with a little jug of cream, also awaited the young lady's pleasure.

She called Susy out of her cupboard with a glad voice.

"Come, Susan," she said, "there's plenty for us both. As there are only plates and knives and forks for one, I'll eat first, of course, but you can wash the things up, and have a good meal after me. We must be quick about it though, for Hudson will be back in half an hour."

"Oh, yes, miss, that we will. I'm wonderful hungry, Miss Ermengarde, and your nice dinner do look enticing."

At the appointed time Hudson returned. She brought in a couple of peaches and a bunch of grapes for Ermengarde.

"Miss Ermengarde!" she said in consternation, "you don't mean to say you've eaten up all the duck! And the tart, too! Well, I do call that greedy. Where's the sorrow that worketh to repentance when there's such an appetite? You'll be ill, miss, and no wonder."

"But I didn't eat all the duck, really, Hudson – I didn't truly!"

"My dear, what's left of it? Only a little bit of the back. Why, this plump bird ought to have dined three people. Miss Ermengarde, you certainly will be very ill, and you deserve it. No, I won't leave these peaches and grapes – I'd be afraid. Good-afternoon, miss, I'll look in at tea-time. But don't you expect nothing but dry toast then."

Hudson took her tray down to the kitchen, where she remarked on Ermie's enormous appetite.

"A whole duck!" she said. "I didn't think any young lady could eat so much. And most times Miss Ermie picks at her food."

Upstairs, in Miss Nelson's pretty little sitting-room, Ermengarde was scolding Susy for eating so much duck. Susy was retorting with some passion that she had not had more than her share, and over this dispute the two friends came almost to a quarrel.

Susy, however, had no wish not to keep on the sunny side of Miss Ermengarde's affections, and after her momentary irritation had cooled down, she adroitly changed the subject. Once more she administered broad flatteries; and impressed upon Ermengarde the fact that she was a long-suffering and ill-used martyr.

"I wouldn't stand it," said Susy. "No, that I wouldn't. I ain't a lady like you, Miss Ermie, but I wouldn't stand what you do."

"What would you do, Susy? How would you help yourself?"

"What would I do? Well, I'd go to my pa', and I'd have a talk with him. I'd let him know that – obey that old horror of a governess?"

"You mustn't speak about her like that, really, Susy."

"Miss, I'm open; that's what I am. I says what I means, and when I see a poor dear put upon, and treated worse than a baby, and punished as if we were back in feudal ages, I say that the one who does it is a horror. You think the same, Miss Ermie, though you're too proud to say it."

"We don't express ourselves in that way in our class," said Ermengarde, with a slow distinguished sort of smile which always abashed Susy. "Yes, Miss Nelson is very suitable with the children, but I do think I am beyond her. I am old for my years, and no one can call fourteen young."

"It's a noble age, miss," said Susy, in a tone of rapture. "I'm only twelve, but I aspires to fourteen continual."

"Oh, you," said Ermengarde. "You're different; girls in your class don't come out. You are not presented, you have no future. It is quite a different matter with me. I shall be in society in a few years at latest. What I should like my father to do is – "

"To send you to a select seminary, miss – I know!"

"You don't know, Susan, A select seminary! the very word is vulgar. No; I should like my father to allow me to pursue my own education under the control of masters who are specialists in each branch."

"Miss, you talk very learned."

Susan suppressed a yawn, and going to the window looked out.

"I know what I'd do," she said. "I'd pay that fine lady governess of yours out. It would be tit for tat with me. Couldn't you do something as would put her in a fret, Miss Ermie?"

"I don't know what to do," said Ermengarde. "Miss Nelson is not easily fretted."

"Well, I'd find a way. Certainly I'd do something; see if I wouldn't."

"Hush!" said Ermengarde. "Listen! What is that?" She put her head out of the window. Susy prepared to follow her example, but Ermie pushed her back.

"I hear Basil's voice," she said. "They are coming back – yes, they are all returning. Susy, you had better get into the cupboard. Hide as fast as you can. Miss Nelson is certain to come up here, the very first thing. O Susy, do get into the cupboard at once! I shall be ruined if you are discovered up here."

Ermengarde's tone had risen to one of piteous entreaty. Susy, a little loath – for she could scarcely believe that her fun was so nearly over – was dragged and almost pushed into the cupboard. When she had got her captive, Ermengarde took the precaution to lock the cupboard door and put the key in her pocket.

"Oh, Miss, don't go away and leave me locked in," called the poor prisoner through the keyhole. "Don't you go a-forgetting of me, Miss Ermie, or I'll be found a moldified skeleton here, by and by." Susy's tone was tearful, and Ermie's piteous entreaties to her to hush were scarcely listened to. Footsteps were heard coming down the corridor.

"She's coming! I shall be betrayed. Do be quiet, Susy!" whispered Ermengarde in an agony.

At that moment the room door was unlocked, and Miss Nelson came in.

"I thought I heard you talking to some one, my dear," she said.

"I was only repeating some poetry over," said Ermengarde, raising her delicate brows.

She hated herself for telling this lie. She had yet to learn that one act of deceit must lead to another.

"I am glad you are improving your mind, Ermie," said the governess.

She went up to the little girl, took one of her cold hands, and kissed her.

"Well, my dear, we have all come back, and on your account. Basil pleaded very hard for you. He certainly is a dear fellow; I don't wonder you love him, my dear. He pleaded for you, Ermengarde, and I – my love, I have yielded to his request. I have come back to say that I forgive you, Ermie. You will try to obey me in future, my dear child, and this punishment, owing to Basil's intercession, may be considered at an end. We are all going to have tea in the hay-field, and you are to join us there. Run up to your room, dear, and put on your brown holland frock. I will wait for you here. Kiss me, Ermie, before you go."

Ermengarde went up to her governess. She went slowly, for she had the greatest possible difficulty in keeping her tears back. But for Susy's presence in the cupboard this sudden forgiveness and deliverance would have set her dancing for joy. As it was, her heart felt like lead, and she hated herself for her meanness.

"Kiss me, Ermie," said Miss Nelson. "There, my child. My dear, you need not look down-hearted any more. I was obliged to punish you, but I don't think you will willfully and deliberately disobey me again. Cheer up now, Ermengarde; the past is past. You must ask God to give you strength to do better in the future, my dear. And – one thing – I want you to believe in my love, Ermie; I don't show it much. It is one of my trials that I can't show all that I feel, but – your mother's child is beloved by me, Ermengarde."

"Oh, don't speak of mother," said Ermengarde, with a little sob. She rushed out of the room. When she came back her governess was standing by the window.

"I cannot make out what I did with the key of my cupboard," she said. "I thought I left it in the door."

"Perhaps you have it in your pocket," said Ermengarde.

"No, I have felt in my pocket. Well, we can't wait now. The children will be starving for their tea. I promised to show Basil some photographs which I have in the cupboard, but they must wait for another time. Come, Ermengarde."

CHAPTER V.

LOCKED IN THE CUPBOARD

Punishment has many degrees, and the sense of humiliation which Ermengarde felt, when that morning she had been left prisoner in Miss Nelson's sitting-room, was nothing indeed to the agony which she endured when, supposed to be free and pardoned, she walked with her governess to the hay-field.

Every moment she expected to hear Susy's piercing yells following her. Susy was a child with little or no self-control. She hated dark rooms; her imagination was unhealthy, and fostered in her home life in the worst possible way. Ermengarde knew that she could hear Miss Nelson's conversation, and every moment she expected her voice to arise within the cupboard in protest.

When no sound came, however, a dreadful idea took possession of poor Ermie's brain. The cupboard was not large; suppose Susy had been suffocated. This terror became so insupportable that several times the miserable child was on the point of confessing all. What kept her back from doing this was the thought of Basil. While the ghost of a chance remained she must avert the possibility of Basil looking down on her. For Basil to despise her would have been the bitterest cup which life at present could hold out to poor Ermengarde.

Miss Nelson and her pupil reached the hay-field, and then ensued a scamper, a rush. Marjorie, Eric, Basil, Lucy, all crowded round their sister. They were unfeignedly delighted to have her with them, and Ermie could not but reflect how happy she would now be but for Susy.

"We are going to have such a time," said Marjorie. "After tea we are going to build a hayrick, quite in a new way. It's to be hollow inside, like a room, and pointed at the top, with a hole to let the air in, and – why, what's the matter, Ermie? You look as white as anything. We thought you'd be so fresh, for you have done nothing all day. Now, I am tired, if you like. Oh, haven't I run?"

Marjorie stopped talking to mop her heated forehead.

"But it was glorious fun," she began, the next minute. "I thought Eric would have capsized the boat, he laughed so. Only Basil was a bit mopy. He's not half himself when you're away, Ermie, Now, hadn't you better sit down? You do look white."

Ermengarde glanced round her. At that moment she and Marjorie were a few feet away from the others. Basil was trotting meekly up and down with a small sister aloft on each broad shoulder. Eric was sending all the small fry whom he could reach into screams at his superabundant wit and spirits. Miss Nelson went over to help nurse to get the tea ready. For a brief moment the two sisters were alone.

In an instant Marjorie would be called. She was never long left to herself in any group. Ermie had not a second to lose. She clasped Marjorie's hand convulsively.

"Maggie, I want you to help me."

"Of course I will, Ermie. What is it? Coming, Eric! What's the matter, Ermie?"

"Oh, do get those children away for a minute."

"Maggie, Maggie, Maggie!" shouted several voices, headed by Eric's.

"Coming, Eric. Keep back, all of you. I'm talking to Ermie for a minute. Now, Ermie, quick. What is it?"

"I want to go back to the house, without any one noticing. Help me to go back at once."

"How can I help you! How queer you look."

"O Maggie, it's so important! Don't question me. Only help me."

"Poor Ermie, you do look in a state!"

"And no one must know. Maggie, I did think you'd be clever enough to find an excuse for me. I trusted to you. Don't fail me, Maggie."

"Let me think," said Marjorie. "You'll come back again?"

"Yes, I won't be gone any time."

"I'll fly across to nurse. Stay where you are – I'll be with you again in a minute."

Marjorie ran across the hay-field, stooped down by old nurse's side, had a short and eager colloquy, and returned to Ermengarde.

"Ermie, nurse wants those rusks which baby always has with his tea. She says you'll find the box in the nursery cupboard. Will you fetch them in a hurry? Baby is so hungry."

"Oh, what nonsense!" said Basil, who had now come up. "The idea of sending Ermie! Where's the nursemaid?"

"Alice went to the house with another message. You had better go, Ermengarde; nurse is in a hurry."

"I don't mind going a bit," said Ermengarde. She looked ready to fly. Her lips were trembling.

"You look as tired as anything now, Ermie," said Basil. "I'll go, if it comes to that. Where are those wretched rusks to be found, Maggie?"

"You can't go, Basil. You are to light the fire for the gypsy tea."

"It's lighting."

"Well, it's going out again. I know it is; or the kettle is sure to boil over, or something. Do be on the spot, and let Ermie make herself useful for once in a way."