CHAPTER X.
It was the elfish baby-girl Mona who first put me on the track of the solution of the mystery about Mr. Rayner’s room. This ill-cared-for little creature, instead of resenting the neglect she suffered, prized the liberties she enjoyed of roaming about withersoever she pleased, and sitting in the flower-beds, and in the mud at the edge of the pond, and making herself altogether the very dirtiest little girl I had ever seen, and objected vehemently to the least attempt at judicious restraint. The little notice she got was neither consistent nor kind. Sarah or Jane would snatch her up, regardless of her shrieks, to shut her up in an empty bedroom, if she showed her grimy little face and tattered pinafore anywhere near the house in the afternoon, when callers might come. But, if they did not see her, they forgot her, and left her to talk and croon to herself, and to collect piles of snails, and to such other simple occupations in her favorite haunts until tea-time, when she generally grew hungry of her own accord, and, returning to the house, made an entrance where she could.
The day after the violin-playing was very wet, and, looking out of the window during lessons with Haidee, I caught sight of her small sister trotting along composedly without a hat in the fast-falling rain. I jumped up and called to her; but she took no notice; so I ran to fetch my umbrella and set off in pursuit. After a little search, I saw her steadily toddling up a side-path among the trees which led to the stables; and I followed softly without calling her again, as, if irritated by pursuit, she might, I knew, plunge among the trees and surrender only when we were both wet through.
The stables were built much higher up than the house, close to the road, but surrounded by trees. I had never been near them before; but now I followed Mona close underneath the walls, where she began dancing about by herself, making hideous grimaces at two windows on the upper story, and throwing up at them little stones and bits of stick that she picked up, all wet and muddy, from the moist earth. I seized and caught her up in my arms so suddenly that for the first few moments she was too much surprised to howl; but I had scarcely turned to take her back to the house when she recovered her powers completely, and made the plantation ring with a most elfish yell. I spoke to her and tried to reason with her, and told her it was all for her good, when one of the upper windows I have mentioned was thrown open, and Mr. Rayner appeared at it.
“Hallo, what is the matter? Kidnapping, Miss Christie?”
“Oh, Mr. Rayner, she will sit in the mud and open her mouth to catch the rain without a hat, and it can’t be good for her!” I said piteously.
“Never mind. It doesn’t seem to hurt her. I believe she is half a frog,” said her father, with less tenderness than he might have shown, I thought.
For the child was not old enough to know that it was wrong to dislike her father, while he was quite old enough to know that it was wrong not to be fonder of his child.
“But you will get your own feet wet, my dear child,” said he, in quite a different tone. “Come up here and sit by the fire, while I fetch your goloshes. You have never seen my studio. I pass half my time painting and smoking here when it is wet and I can’t get out.” He had a palette on his thumb and a pipe in his mouth while he spoke. “You don’t mind the smell of turpentine or tobacco, do you?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Rayner! But I won’t come in, thank you. I am at lessons with Haidee,” said I.
“Happy Haidee! I wish I were young enough to take lessons; and yet, if I were, I shouldn’t be old enough to make the best use of my time,” said he, in a low voice, with mock-modesty that made me laugh.
He was leaning a long way out of window in the rain, and I had work to do indoors; so, without saying anything more, I returned to the house with my prize.
It was to his studio then that Sarah had taken his violin. I had never heard of this studio before; but I knew that Mr. Rayner was very careful about the condition of the stables, and I could imagine that this two-windowed upper room, with its fire, must be a very nice place to paint in—dry, warm, and light. Could this be where Mr. Rayner slept? No; for in that case he would hardly have asked me to come up and look at his painting. And I should not like to think that he had made for himself a snug warm little home here while his family slept in the damp vapors of the marsh at the bottom of the hill. But that would not be like Mr. Rayner, I thought, remembering the pains he had taken to provide a nice dry room just for me, the governess. Yet I should have liked, in the face of Mr. Reade’s tiresome suspicions, to be sure.
That night I was so anxious to find out whether Mr. Rayner did really sleep out of the house, as he had been accused of doing, that I had the meanness to leave my own bedroom door wide open, as well as that at the bottom of the turret staircase, and listen for footsteps on the ground-floor, and the sound of a key in the garden door through which Sarah had taken the violin. But I heard nothing, though I was awake until long after the rest of the household must have gone to bed. And I felt almost as much relieved as if it had been my own father proved innocent of a mean action imputed to him.
On the following night there was a high wind, which shook and swayed the trees and whistled round my turret, and made the door which stood always fastened back at the top of the kitchen-stairs rattle and creak on its hinges. At last I could bear this last sound no longer. I had been sitting up late over a book, and I knew that the household must be asleep, so I slipped downstairs as softly as I could. I had got to the top of the back-staircase, and had my hand on the door, when I saw a faint glimmer of light coming along the passage below. I heard no sound. I drew back quickly, so quickly that my candle went out; and then I waited, with my heart beating fast, not so much to see who it was, as because I did not dare to move. The faint light came along swiftly, and, when close to the foot of the stairs below me, I could see that it was a shaded lantern, and could just distinguish the form of a man carrying it. Was he coming upstairs? For the next few moments I scarcely dared to breathe, and I could almost have given a cry of joy when, by some movement of the head, I recognized Mr. Rayner. He did not see me; he put the key in the lock, turned it, took the key out, went through and locked it after him so quickly and so entirely without noise that a moment afterwards I could almost have thought that I had imagined the dim scene. It had been so utterly without sound that, if my eyes had been closed, I should have known nothing about it. I made the door secure with trembling fingers, and went back to my room again, not only profoundly sorry that Mr. Reade’s surmise was correct—for I could no longer doubt that Mr. Rayner did sleep over the stables—but impressed with an eerie dread of the man who could move about in the night as noiselessly and swiftly as a spirit.
When I awoke however in the fresh morning, with the wind gone down, and the sun shining in through my east window, all unpleasant impressions of the night before had faded away; and, when Mr. Rayner brought into the drawing-room after dinner a portfolio full of his sketches and panels, and was delighted with my appreciation of them—I knew something about pictures, for my father had been a painter—I felt that it was not for me to judge his actions, and that there must be some good motive that I did not know for his sleeping far out of the damp, as for everything else that he did. He proposed to paint me, and I gave him a sitting that very afternoon in the dining-room, which had a north light, though there was not much of it; and he said that he must finish it next day in his studio, and, when I objected to neglect my lessons again, he said the whole family should emigrate thither for the morning, and then perhaps I should be satisfied.
So the next day, at eleven o’clock, he came into the schoolroom with Mrs. Rayner, who wore her usual air of being drawn into this against what will she had, and we all four crossed the garden to the stables, and went up through the harness-room to the big room over the coach-house, which looked even more comfortable than I had expected.
For the floor was polished, and there were two beautiful rugs, a handsome tiger-skin, and a still handsomer lion-skin with the head attached, which Haidee crept up to, drew upon her lap, and nursed all the time we were there. At one end of the room was a partition, and behind this partition I guessed that Mr. Rayner slept. There was a bright fire burning in the tiled fireplace, and there were soft easy-chairs, rather worn by constant use, but very comfortable, and there were pictures on the walls, and there was a dark carved-oak cabinet full of curious and beautiful things, and a writing-table; and lastly there were the easel and a great confusion of portfolios and half-finished sketches and studies. Altogether the room contrasted very favorably with the mouldy-looking drawing-room. Perhaps Mrs. Rayner thought so as she sat down, with one eager intent look round the room, as if she had never seen it before; and then, without any remark, she took out her knitting and worked silently, while I posed again as I had done on the previous day, with my head on one side, and my hands, as Mr. Rayner had placed them, clasped under my chin, while he painted and talked.
“You like those sketches I took in Spain, Miss Christie?”
“Yes—only there are too many nasty black priests prowling about in them.”
“Oh, you little bigot! Those black figures are just what the hot, rather glaring Spanish scenes want, to relieve the monotony of bright colors and sunshine. You must tolerate them from a picturesque point of view.”
“Very well, but from no other. They remind me of the Inquisition. They all look like Jesuits.”
“And where is the harm of looking like a Jesuit? I have a partiality for Jesuits myself.”
“Oh, not really?”
“Really. Why not?”
“They are such sneaking, cowardly creatures, always working by indirect, underhand means, and leaving their poor tools to bear the storms they themselves have excited.”
“But the poor tools are fit for nothing else. It is the daring, clever brain of the Jesuit that weaves the plot; it is on him that the chief responsibility lies; and that his part of the work has its dangers is proved by the persecutions and martyrdom that many of his order have suffered. You cannot conquer everything in this world by the fists alone; every clever man who has ever made his way—‘got on,’ as the phrase is—is a potential Jesuit.”
“Well, then, I like the poor fellows who don’t get on, and who have only their fists, better,” said I decisively.
Mr. Rayner looked at me with a half smile.
“Most women begin like that,” said he dryly.
Of course I felt rather indignant, as every girl does, at being classed with “most women;” so I said no more, but only pursed up my lips; and I saw in the white face of Mrs. Rayner, who had been listening intently to this dialogue, a faint look of amazement at my presumption.
After two hours’ work, Mr. Rayner called us to look at his sketch, which represented a very lovely girl with dark gray eyes a little larger than mine, a red-lipped mouth a little smaller, teeth a little whiter, and a complexion a little creamier in the white parts and a little rosier in the red; and the brown hair coiled on the top was just a little glossier and smoother than mine ever was. It was just a little like me all the same; and I was rather hurt when Mrs. Rayner summoned spirit enough to say that he had flattered me, although I knew it quite well. But Mr. Rayner said gravely that it was impossible for a portrait to flatter a handsome woman, and Mrs. Rayner raised her thin shoulders in a slight shrug and turned to leave the room. Haidee rose to follow her, but paused on the threshold to give a last fond gaze at the lion and to look round for me.
“You are an excellent model, you sit so still. It is a pleasure to paint you for that and—for other reasons,” said he slowly and deliberately, as, without looking up, he went on putting finishing touches to the head. “What shall I give you as a reward for remaining so long without blinking or yawning as all professional models do?”
“Nothing, Mr. Rayner; I like having it done. It flatters one’s vanity to be painted; and flattery is always reward enough for a woman, they say,” said I, laughing and following Haidee to the door.
“I shall find something more substantial than that,” said Mr. Rayner, in a low voice, as if half to himself, looking up with a very kind smile as I left the room.
That afternoon Haidee had just run out of the schoolroom at the conclusion of her lessons, when Mr. Rayner came in. He held in his hand an old and shabby little case.
“The poor painter has not forgotten his promise, if he dares to call it a promise,” said he, with mock humility. “Now see what you have earned by sitting still.”
He drew me to the window and opened the case, keeping his eyes fixed upon my face as he did so. The case was lined with old and worn red velvet, and had evidently not been made for the ornament it contained. This was a large pendant in the form of a heart, which was a blaze of what seemed to me the most magnificent diamonds I had ever seen. The sight of them inspired me not with pleasure, but terror. I drew a long breath of surprise and admiration.
“It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” said I at last, not quite able to take in yet the fact that it was meant for me, and hoping against hope that it was not.
“You like diamonds?” said he, in a low voice.
“They are lovely—the most beautiful of all jewels, I think,” said I, with a break in my voice.
“Would you like to have your hair and neck and arms covered with diamonds, like a duchess at Court?” asked he, still very quietly, but so that I did not know whether he was speaking seriously or in jest.
I looked up and laughed with rather an effort.
“I? Oh, no! I shouldn’t care for diamonds for myself; I should look absurd in them. Diamonds are for great ladies, not for governesses.”
“Governesses become great ladies sometimes, don’t they?” said he, returning to his usual light tone.
“I think most of them don’t,” said I, in the same manner.
“Well, without being a great lady, a governess may wear an ornament she has fairly earned, may she not?”
“Yes, if it has been fairly earned,” said I, trying to keep up a light tone of talk, though my heart was beating fast.
“And so you can accept this pretty little thing as the reward of your services to a grateful painter and a souvenir of our pleasant morning all together in the studio.”
“Oh, no—oh, no—I can’t indeed!” said I earnestly, pushing from me gently the case he was trying to put into my hand. “Don’t be offended—don’t be angry with me, Mr. Rayner; but the very thought of possessing anything so valuable would be a burden to me night and day.”
Mr. Rayner burst into a long laugh.
“Oh, you simple little creature! I did not think a London lady would be so unsophisticated as to mistake very ordinary paste for diamonds,” said he, with much enjoyment. “This pendant, the enormous value of which frightens you so much, is worth about fifteen shillings. It wasn’t even worth having a case made for it; see, I have had to put it into an old case which once contained a brooch. No, no, my dear child, you need not be alarmed at the mere money-value of the thing, which is very little. It has a value in my eyes, but for a different reason. Look here.”
He turned it over, and I saw on the back a monogram, and the date 1792.
“What are the letters of the monogram?”
I read—“R. G. D.”
“ ‘G. D. R.,’ ” corrected he—“Gervas D. Rayner—my own initials and those of my father and grandfather before me. That this belonged to my grandmother makes its only value. But I have plenty of relics of her; my wife has jewels enough at the bank which she never wears; so you are robbing nobody and pleasing one old friend—I may call myself an old friend already, may I not?—very much by accepting this. In full family conclave at tea, you shall hear me announce the presentation, and then you will be satisfied, won’t you, you modest little girl?”
“But I can never wear such a thing as this, if it is only what you call paste,” I objected.
“Wear it under your dress, and then the blaze of it will dazzle nobody,” said Mr. Rayner, bending over me and laughing kindly at my reluctance.
So I took it with most ungracious feelings, which I tried to hide, and thanked him as well as I could. True to his promise, Mr. Rayner said to his wife at tea-time—
“I have with the greatest difficulty prevailed upon this proud Miss Christie of ours to accept as a reward of her services as model a twopenny-halfpenny trinket, which she almost told me was not fit to wear.”
“Oh, Mr. Rayner!”
He was putting such a different color upon my reluctance, as if I had not thought it good enough. And there is a great deal of difference between fifteen shillings and twopence-halfpenny. I saw Sarah, who was in the room, look at me very sharply, as if she thought governesses had no business to wear trinkets at all; and Mrs. Rayner did not look pleased.
Altogether the beautiful ornament that I had admired so much, but certainly not coveted, had brought me more annoyance than pleasure. It procured me one more little trial that very evening. When I got upstairs, I sat down in the arm-chair which had its back to the door, took the case out of my pocket, and looked at the ornament. It certainly was very splendid, and I thought, as I looked at it and made it flash in the setting sun, that, if this were paste and worth only fifteen shillings, it was great waste of money to buy real diamonds, which cost so much more and looked no better. And, as I was holding it up to the light and feeling at last a thrill of pleasure in its possession, I heard a voice behind me say—
“So that’s the twopenny-halfpenny trinket, is it?”
Of course it was Sarah. She had come up to bring me some water, and I had plenty in the jug. Her ironical tone and the hard little sneering laugh with which she finished her speech were too much for my temper. I shut up the case, and said coldly—
“Of course Mr. Rayner would not give any one a thing which really cost only twopence-halfpenny, Sarah.”
“No, miss, not for such services as yours.”
And she said it in such a nasty tone that, when she had left the room, I threw the case down upon the table and burst into tears.