CHAPTER TWELFTH
THE DISCOVERY
It was still early when Miss Sarah rolled up her work, saying her aunt was not well and must not be left any longer alone.
After she had gone Miss Virginia moved about the drawing-room, pushing chairs back into their places, changing by a few inches the position of some ornament, and rearranging the folds of the curtains. Meanwhile she was thinking that, in part at least, the problem that had been weighing upon her was about to be solved. She had not felt so cheerful in weeks.
At last she was to have a chance to redeem herself and silence that troublesome conscience which continually reminded her she was shirking her duty. Her relief was not unmixed, for at times she felt convicted of disloyalty.
Ever since the episode of the spool of twist Caroline had been a little disagreeable, though in an intangible way that hardly stood analysis. Where Charlotte was concerned, Miss Virginia considered her sister's severity extreme, and she had been hurt that her own protest and plea of extenuating circumstances should have been so scornfully dismissed. Now if events turned out as they promised, all would be well again. If only she dared give Charlotte a hint. The child looked pale and unhappy.
Could there be any harm in saying to her that something was about to happen which would make everything right? Miss Virginia resolved to do it. There could be no reasonable doubt as to what Caroline's decision would be. She ran upstairs light-heartedly.
Charlotte's door was closed, perhaps she was already asleep. Softly Miss Virginia turned the knob. The room was dark, except for the outside electric light that threw a vivid shadow of the window-frame and curtain on the opposite wall. She crossed the room to lower the blind, and as she did so, discovered the bed was unoccupied.
SHE SANK INTO A CHAIR.
With nervous haste she searched for the matches. Why did she tremble so? It seemed an age till she found them. No, Charlotte was not there; but how absurd to be alarmed, she must be somewhere in the house. Mechanically Miss Virginia began to fold a ribbon that lay on the dressing-table. Then her eye fell on a folded paper addressed to herself. Scarcely able to breathe, she sank into a chair and opened it. It was written in a large, schoolgirl hand.
"Dear Aunt Virginia: I am going away to Uncle Landor. I am sorry to give you so much trouble. I am going to ask him to send me to boarding school, because I can't stand it any longer. I know how to go to Philadelphia, and I have money enough. I did not mean to be deceitful, but Miss Alex said I was, and that I was making you miserable, so I think I ought to go.
"Your niece,
"Charlotte Creston."
To Philadelphia—that child! Miss Virginia, who never travelled alone, was overcome with the terror of it. What could she do? Was it too late to stop her? Oh, for some one to help! She ran out into the hall, but something checked her first impulse to call the servants. At what hour did the evening train leave for the north? She hastened downstairs for the paper.
"It is all my fault! all my fault!" she murmured to herself, as with trembling hands she searched for the railroad column. It was too late; the train must have left half an hour ago.
She must consult somebody. Surely, something could be done. Opening the front door, she looked out into the night. A bright light shone from the Russells' across the way. Forgetting to close the door behind her, she hurried over the street and rang the bell.
She told the servant tremblingly that she wished to speak to Miss Alex, who presently came to her in evident surprise.
"Why, Miss Virginia! Is anything the matter?"
"Oh, Alex, something dreadful has happened!" In her agitation it was not possible to say more.
"Is any one ill?"
"No, it is Charlotte—she has gone!"
"Gone?" echoed Alex. "But do come in, Miss Virginia."
"I can't; I left the door open. I don't want people to know. Oh, Alex, what shall I do?"
"I'll go back with you," said Alex. "I don't understand yet what has happened. Where has Charlotte gone?"
Once inside her own door, Miss Virginia thrust Charlotte's note into Alexina's hand. "What shall I do?" she cried. "That long journey alone, and it is all my fault!"
"Don't say that; I am afraid it is partly mine. I was hard on her this afternoon, but I didn't dream— There must be some way to stop her,—by telegraphing ahead, you know. I wonder— It should be done at once. The train left half an hour ago, you say?"
Miss Virginia nodded; words were beyond her.
And now into the drawing-room, where they stood in agitated uncertainty, walked Miss Pennington, the shopkeeper. Her face was flushed, her hair a little disordered by the wind, but she was smiling, and somehow her presence seemed at once to relieve the tension.
"Perhaps you can help me," cried poor Miss Virginia, hardly knowing what she said.
"I am sure I can," answered the stranger, going to her and taking the trembling hands in her own firm ones. "Are you worried about Charlotte? If you are, I have come to tell you she is safe, and is not going to Philadelphia to-night."
"You are sure? How do you know?" cried Miss Virginia, in bewilderment.
Alex drew near in surprise. She had not at first recognized Miss Pennington.
"I'll tell you about it as quickly as I can, but you must sit down;" and Norah drew her to a sofa, where, sitting beside her, she explained that her friend, Miss Carpenter, had had occasion that night to go to the station with her maid, whose nephew was to pass through the city on his way to a western army post. In the waiting-room her attention had been attracted by the efforts of a man to annoy a little girl. Finally it became so marked, and the child seemed so alarmed, that Miss Carpenter interfered, and appealed to a passing official. Then, surprised that a girl of her appearance should be travelling alone at night, she questioned her; and thoroughly frightened, Charlotte had revealed the fact that she was running away.
"Miss Carpenter is a very decided person, and when she understood the matter, would not let her go, but instead brought her home, where we talked it over. I hope you won't think me very presuming when I say that it seemed to us if there were any way of keeping it quiet, it would be so much better. It was just the momentary rebellion of a high-spirited girl. I know she is sorry now."
"Caroline need never know a thing about it," exclaimed Miss Virginia, looking at Alex.
"I am sure that would be best. I'll never speak of it," answered Alex.
"Then I'll bring her over," said Norah, rising. "She is a good deal excited, so I offered to come over and pave the way."
"You can tell her I will be as good to her—things are going to be very different." Tears came into Miss Virginia's eyes.
"I am sure you are always good. I haven't the least doubt she was naughty, but girls are very foolish sometimes." Norah looked at Alex as if she might be expected to agree to this.
A very pale, subdued Charlotte made her appearance soon after. There was nobody to receive her but Aunt Virginia, who waited at the door.
Little was said that night. "We'll just pretend it never happened, dear," Aunt Virginia said tearfully, as she took her into her arms and kissed her. "You didn't know it, but your Aunt Caroline is going away for the winter," she added. "It is a secret yet, but she is going very soon; and I was thinking you and I would have such a good time, and then—" They both fell to crying over this in a manner to suggest to one unenlightened that a good time without Aunt Caroline would prove but a dreary affair.
"I am so sorry, and I am going to be good," Charlotte whispered, when her aunt came to tuck her in. "And oh, Aunt Virginia, they are lovely! They were so good." This, of course, referred to the shopkeepers.
"I didn't thank Miss Pennington; I didn't say one word, so far as I remember," exclaimed Miss Wilbur, "and she was certainly kind. I shall have to go over and express my appreciation. Judging from her appearance she is a charming young woman."