Uncle Max Part 33

'Ran away from Hyde Park Gate! Were you mad, Jill?'

'Oh dear, no,--not from Hyde Park Gate. Did you not get my letter? Oh, I remember, I forgot to post it: it is in my blotting-case now. Then you did not know that Sara has scarlatina?'

'No, indeed; but I am very sorry to hear it.'

'Oh, she is nearly well now; but no one knows how she caught it. There was a terrible fuss when Dr. Armstrong p.r.o.nounced it scarlatina. Mamma made father take lodgings at Brighton at once, and Fraulein and I were packed off there at a minute's notice. You can fancy what my life has been for the last ten days, mewed up in a dull, ugly parlour with that old cat.'

'My poor, dear Jill! But why did you not write to me, and I would have come over at once?'

'So I did write, twice, and I do believe that horrid creature never posted my letters,--I daresay they are in her pocket now,--and I could not get out by myself until to-day. Now just think, Ursula, what sort of a Christmas Day I was likely to have; and then you never came to me, and I got desperate; so when Fraulein said she had one of her headaches,' and here Jill made a comical grimace, 'I just made up my mind to take French leave, and spend Christmas Day with you, and here I am; and scold me if you dare, and I will hug you to death.' And, indeed, Jill's powerful young arms were quite capable of fulfilling her threat.

'It is not for me to scold you,' I replied quietly; 'but I am afraid you will get into trouble for this piece of recklessness. Think how frightened poor Fraulein will be when she misses you.'

'Poor Fraulein, indeed! a deceitful creature like that. Why, Ursula, what do you think? I just peeped into her room to be sure that she was safe and it was all dark: she was not there at all. Oh, oh, my lady, I said to myself, so that is your little game, is it? And, just to be certain, I rang at the bell at 37 Brunswick Place, where the Schumackers live, and asked the servant if Fraulein Hennig was still there, and when I heard that she was having tea I nearly laughed in his face. What do you think of that for an instructress of youth,--getting up the excuse of a headache, and leaving me over those stupid lessons, while she paid a visit on her own account? Does she not deserve a thorough good fright as a punishment?'

'I think Aunt Philippa ought to be undeceived. I have never trusted Fraulein Hennig since you told me she shut herself up in her bedroom to read novels. Jill, my dear, you have acted very wrongly, and I am afraid we shall all get into trouble over this school-girl trick of yours. I must think what is best to be done under the circ.u.mstances.'

'You may think as much as you like,' returned Jill obstinately, 'but I have come to spend my Christmas Day with you, and nothing will induce me to go back to Fraulein: I shall murder her if I do. Now, Ursie darling,'

in a coaxing voice, 'do be nice, and make much of me. You can't think how delicious it is to see your face again; it is such a dear face, and I like it ever so much better than Sara's and Lesbia's.'

I was unable to reply to this flattering speech, for Jill suddenly put up her hand--I noticed it was a little inky--and said, 'Hark, there is some one coming up to the door?' and for the moment we both believed that it was Fraulein; but, to Jill's immense relief, it was only Mr. Tudor, with a great bough of holly in his hand.

'We have just finished at the church, and I have brought you this, Miss Garston,' he began, and then he stopped, and said, 'Miss Jocelyn here!'

in a tone of extreme surprise, and Jill got up rather awkwardly and shook hands with him. I could see that she felt shy and uncomfortable. I was very pleased to see Mr. Tudor, for I knew he would help us in this emergency. Jill was such a child, in spite of her womanly proportions, that I was sure that her escapade would not seriously shock him; he was young enough himself to have a fellow-feeling for her; and I was not wrong. Mr. Tudor looked decidedly amused when I told him Jill had taken French leave. He tried to look grave until I had finished, but the effort was too much for him, and he burst out laughing.

Jill, who was looking very sulky, was so charmed by his merriment that she began to laugh too, and we were all as cheerful as possible until I called them to order, and asked Mr. Tudor if he would send off a telegram at once.

'A telegram! Oh, Ursula!' And Jill's dimples disappeared like magic.

'My dear, Fraulein would not have a moment's sleep to-night if she did not know you were safe. Do not be afraid, Jill: we will spend our Christmas Day together, in spite of all the Frauleins in the world.' And then I wrote off the telegram, and a short note, and gave them to Mr. Tudor. The telegram was necessarily brief:

'Jocelyn safe with me. Will not return until Thursday. Write to explain.'

The note was more explanatory.

I apologised profusely to Fraulein for her pupil's naughtiness, but begged her to say nothing to her mother, as I would communicate myself with Aunt Philippa and let her know what had happened. Under the circ.u.mstances I thought it better to keep Jocelyn with me over Christmas Day, until I heard from Aunt Philippa. But she might depend on my bringing her back myself.

'It is far too polite,' growled Jill, who had been reading the letter over my shoulder. 'How can you cringe so to that creature?'

'I consider it a masterpiece of diplomacy,' observed Mr. Tudor, as I handed it for his inspection. 'Civil words pay best in the long-run; and you know it was very naughty to run away, Miss Jocelyn.'

'It was nothing of the kind,' returned Jill rebelliously. 'And I would do it again to-morrow. I am more than sixteen; I am not a child now, and I have a right to come and see Ursula if I like.' And Jill threw back her head, and the colour came into her face, and she looked so handsome that I was not surprised to see Mr. Tudor regard her attentively. I never saw a face so capable of varying expression as Jill's.

Jill declared she was glad when Mr. Tudor was gone. But I think she liked him very well on the whole; and, indeed, no one could dislike such a bright, kind-hearted fellow. As soon as he had left the house I had to call a council. It was quite certain my bed would not hold Jill; so, at Mrs. Barton's suggestion, some spare mattresses were dragged in my room and a bed made up on the floor. Jill voted this delicious; nothing could have pleased her more, and she was so talkative and excited that I had the greatest trouble in coaxing her to be quiet and let me go to sleep: in fact, I had to feign sleep to make her hold her tongue.

But I was much too restless to sleep, and once when I crept out of bed to replenish the fire I stood still for a moment to look at Jill.

She was sleeping as placidly as an infant in its cradle, her short black locks pushed back from her face, and one arm stretched on the coverlet.

I was surprised to see how fine Jill's face really was. The ugly duckling, as Uncle Brian called her, was fast changing into a swan. At present she was too big and undeveloped for grace; her awkward manners and angularities made people think her rough and uncouth. 'I expect she will eclipse Sara's commonplace prettiness some day; but, poor child, no one understands her,' I sighed, and as I tucked her up more warmly, with a kiss, Jill's sleepy arms found their way to my neck and held me there. 'Is not it delicious, Ursie dear?' she murmured drowsily.

I was glad to see that Miss Hamilton was at the early service. She looked pale and delicate, but there was a brighter look upon her face when she nodded to me in the porch. Her brother was putting her into a fly, and Miss Darrell and Lady Betty followed.

I was rather surprised to see him close the door after them and step back into the porch. And the next moment he joined us.

'Well, Miss Garston,' holding out his hand, with a friendly smile, 'you see Gladys contrived to have her way. A happy Christmas to you! But I see you are not alone,' looking rather inquisitively at Jill, who looked very big and shy as usual.

'I think you have heard of my cousin Jocelyn?' I returned, without entering into any further particulars. I should have been sorry for Jill's escapade to reach Mr. Hamilton's ears. But he shook hands with her at once, and said, very pleasantly, that he had heard of her from Mr. Cunliffe. And then, after a few more words, we parted.

Mr. Hamilton was unusually genial this morning. There was nothing in his manner to recall our stormy interview on the previous evening. Perhaps he wished to efface the recollection from my memory, for there was something significant in his smile, as though we perfectly understood each other.

I had lain awake for a long time thinking over Mrs. Maberley's talk and that uncomfortable walk from Maplehurst. Mr. Hamilton's voice and words haunted me; the suppressed irritation and pain that almost mastered him, and how he had flung away from me in the darkness.

I was glad to remember that I had called him back and spoken a conciliatory word. No doubt he had been to blame. I could imagine him hard and bitter to a fault. But he had suffered; there were lines upon his face that had been traced by no common experience. No, it was not for me to judge him. As he said, what could I know of a man's nature? And I was still more glad when I saw Mr. Hamilton in the church porch, and knew that the day's harmony was not disturbed, and that there was peace between us. His bright, satisfied smile made me feel more cheerful.

'What a strange-looking man!' observed Jill, in rather a grumbling voice, as we walked up the hill. 'Is that Mr. Hamilton? I thought he was young; but he is quite old, Ursula.'

'No, dear, not more than three-or four-and-thirty, Uncle Max says.'

'Well, I call that old,' returned Jill, with the obstinacy of sixteen.

'He is an old bachelor, too, for of course n.o.body wants to marry him; he is too ugly.'

'Oh, Jill, how absurd you are! Mr. Hamilton is not ugly at all. You will soon get used to his face. It is only rather peculiar.' And I quite meant what I said, for I had got used to it myself.

'Humph!' observed Jill significantly. But she did not explain the meaning of her satirical smile, and I proceeded to call her attention to the h.o.a.r-frost that lay on the cottage roof, and the beauty of the clear winter sky. 'It is a glorious Christmas morning,' I finished.

We had a very merry breakfast, for Jill was almost wild with spirits, and then we went to church again. Gladys was in her usual place, and looked round at me with a smile as I entered. When the service was over, I went to the Marshalls', accompanied by Jill, who announced her intention of not letting me out of her sight, for I had to preside over the children's Christmas dinner, and to look after my patient. We visited Robin next, and then went on to the Lockes', and Jill sat open-eyed and breathless in a corner of the room as I sang carols to Phoebe in the twilight.

She rose reluctantly when I put my hand on her shoulder and told her that we must hurry back to the cottage to make ourselves smart for the evening. Jill seldom troubled her head about such sublunary affairs as dress.

'I shall be obliged to wear my old tweed,' she said contentedly. 'I have only to smooth my hair, and then I shall be ready.' And she grumbled not a little when I insisted on arranging a beautiful spray of holly as a breast-knot, and twisting some very handsome coral beads that Charlie had given me round her neck. Jill always looked better for a touch of warm colour: the dark-red berries just suited her brown skin. 'You will do better now,' I said, pus.h.i.+ng her away gently, 'so you need not pout and hunch your shoulders. Have I not told you that it is your duty to make the best of yourself?--we cannot be all handsome, but we need not offend our neighbours' eyes.' But, as usual, Jill turned a deaf ear to my philosophy.

The study looked very cosy when we entered it, and Uncle Max gave us a warm welcome. To be sure, he shook his head at Jill, and told her that he was afraid she was a naughty girl, but both he and Mr. Tudor prudently refrained from teasing her on the subject of her escapade. On the contrary, they treated her with profound respect, as though she were a grown-up, sensible young lady, and this answered with Jill. She grew bright and animated, forgot her shyness, and talked in her quaint racy manner. I could see that Mr. Tudor was much taken with her. She was so different from the stereotyped young lady; her cleverness and originality amused him; and I am sure Uncle Max was equally surprised and pleased.

I could see Max was making strenuous efforts to be cheerful, but every now and then he relapsed into gravity. After dinner I drew him aside a moment to speak to him about Jill: to my relief, he promised to be the bearer of a letter to Aunt Philippa.

'I want to go up to town for a day or two,' he said, 'and I may as well do this business for you. How happy the child looks, Ursula! I wish you could keep her a little longer. She is very much improved. I had no idea that there was so much in her; she will be far more attractive than Sara when she has developed a moderate amount of vanity.' And I fully endorsed this opinion.

We went home early, for I could see Max was very tired, but both he and Mr. Tudor insisted on escorting us. It was a beautiful starlight night, clear and frosty: our footsteps rang crisply on the ground: not a breath of wind stirred the skeleton branches that stretched above our heads: a solemn peacefulness seemed to close us round. Jill's mirthful laugh quite startled the echoes. She and Mr. Tudor were following very slowly. Once or twice we stood still and waited for them, but Mr. Tudor was in the middle of some amusing story, and so they took no notice of us.

I told Max about my visit to Mrs. Maberley, and of the conversation that had taken place between us. I thought he started a little when I mentioned Eric Hamilton's name.

'What a pity!' he said quietly. 'I had hoped she would have told you herself. I was waiting for her to do so.'

'But, Max, surely you might have told me?'

'Who?--I? I should not have presumed. You must remember that I was in Hamilton's confidence, and,' after a moment's hesitation, 'in hers too.

Ursula,' with a sudden pa.s.sionate inflexion in his voice, 'you have no idea how she loved that poor boy, and how she suffered: it nearly killed her. Now you know why I say that she is lonely and wants a friend.' 'But she has you, Max,' I exclaimed involuntarily, for I knew what he must have been to them in their trouble; Max could be as tender as a woman; but he started aside as though I had struck him; and his voice was quite changed as he answered me.

'You mistake, Ursula. I was only her clergyman: if she confided in me it was because she could not do otherwise; she is naturally reserved. She would find it easier to be open with you.'