CHAPTER XVIII.
THE GATHERING STORM.
“I am sorry you feel like that about it, my dear. She seems to me a nice little girl enough—rather fascinating indeed. She appears very much liked here.”
Mrs. Cossart’s reply was something like a snort, and the toss of her head and set of her mouth showed from whom Effie had inherited some of her little tricks of manner.
“And she is such a nice companion for Effie,” concluded Mr. Cossart after a brief pause.
“A fine companion indeed!” retorted his wife. “A wonderful lot of time she spends with Effie! I call it simply shameful the way she is going on! We bring her out with us at great cost to be a companion for Effie, and here she is from morning to night running after some new people, just because they are rich and well connected, and she hopes to catch the young man for a husband!”
Like many rather easy-going and phlegmatic people, Mrs. Cossart took a good deal of rousing, but when once an idea had thoroughly taken possession of her mind, there was no getting it out, and if it happened to be one of an irritating and disturbing kind, it would gradually work like leaven in her nature, and entirely overset her natural equilibrium. She had been brooding for weeks over the turn affairs seemed taking, but this was the first time she had spoken quite so openly to her husband, and Mr. Cossart was decidedly taken aback.
“Really, my dear, I don’t think such an idea has ever entered Sheila’s head. She is such a child still. She is fond of Miss Adene and these Dumaresqs, and they have taken a fancy to her; but I don’t think you need think such things of her. She is just as happy playing with the little boy as being with young Dumaresq; and it seems to me that he pays quite as much attention to Effie. I have taken care to let him know, in an indirect kind of way, that our little girl will have a pretty dower when she marries. And in these days young men think of such things. High time too, with the land depreciating as it is!”
“Yes, and perhaps if Sheila were not here something might come of it. Effie has twice the character of Sheila, but there is something about the way that little flirt goes on that takes the fancy of people in a way I can’t understand! And if you would believe it, on New Year’s Eve, when I thought Ronald Dumaresq was sitting out with Effie watching the fireworks and so on—if you would believe it he had just turned her over to his aunt, and off he set down the hill in a carro, and found Sheila out on the verandah here, and stayed with her all the time! What do you call that sort of thing, I wonder?”
“Well, my dear, I don’t see that Sheila was in fault. And there were other people out too. She was not alone. If young Dumaresq chose to come and watch the display from here, nobody could blame her.”
“I expect it was a got-up thing between them. She never said a word about it either; I only heard it incidentally a few days ago. She is a very artful young minx—that is what she is!”
Mr. Cossart was uncomfortable. He was a just man and a kindly one by nature; and Sheila’s pretty ways had taken his fancy as they had taken the fancy of others. He had no special matrimonial ambitions for his own daughter. He would very well have liked to see her the wife of Ronald Dumaresq; but, on the other hand, if the young man had other ideas for himself, he would never make a trouble of it.
“There’s as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it,” was a favourite maxim of his, and if Sheila were to get a handsome husband in Ronald, her uncle would wish her joy and be ready to arrange matters for her in fatherly fashion. But he knew by experience that his wife, when once her mind was made up, was inexorable.
“Yes,” continued Mrs. Cossart wrathfully, “you men never see an inch before your noses, but I have had my misgivings ever since Sheila came. Look how things were with the girls and Cyril. I don’t mean that I think much of Cyril—he’s only a Cossart when all’s said and done. All his grand ways won’t make him a better man than his father before him, and of course they’re cousins. Still I had no particular objection, and Effie seemed to think more of him than of anybody else, and to be a good deal taken up with him. But as soon as Sheila came I noticed the difference. It was she who was the attraction then. They were always scheming to get together and ride off alone and all that sort of thing. There was talk about Effie, to be sure, and teaching her to ride; but that was just the excuse. Oh, I know what I am talking about! And now it is just the same thing again. If it were not for Sheila, young Dumaresq would be very attentive to Effie, but as things are he never gets the chance. That girl, with her craving after notice, her laughing ways and bold artful scheming, just winds him round her fingers, and the end of it will be, you’ll see, that she lands the fish, and Effie is left out in the cold!”
“But, my dear, if the young man prefers Sheila (and I’m not at all prepared to think he does; but she is pretty and taking, and he naturally talks to her) I don’t see that we could interfere.”
“Then you will stand quietly by to see your own child’s heart broken, whilst this artful little minx carries on her games under our very noses.”
At that Mr. Cossart looked grave and uttered a low whistle.
“Do you mean that our Effie has begun to—to—well, to care for this young man? I never thought her the kind to fall in love just with a handsome face.”
“Ronald Dumaresq has more than a handsome face,” answered Mrs. Cossart with slight asperity, “and I have no hesitation in saying that he has taken Effie’s fancy in a way that no other man has done to my knowledge. The last doctor we consulted about Effie said that some interest of that sort in her life just now might be the best possible thing for her. When first I saw Ronald Dumaresq I thought that he would be the very husband for her; he is well-born, fairly well-to-do, kind-hearted, affectionate, and, I think, very high principled. If you watch Effie when she is talking to him, you will see how she brightens up. But that Sheila is for ever putting herself forward. I wish we had never brought her, and I am certain Effie is beginning to wish the same.”
Mr. Cossart was silent; this was putting the matter in a new light. He rubbed his chin and looked disturbed.
“What are the girls doing now?” he asked as though to gain time.
“We will come and see,” said Mrs. Cossart, rising with a kind of vicious alacrity. “I know nothing, but I can guess. Sheila will by hook or by crook have got Ronald Dumaresq in tow, you will see, and Effie will be left out in the cold, or reduced to fall back on those everlasting Murchison girls! I did not bring Effie out here to throw her into the arms of a tradesman’s daughters!” and Mrs. Cossart gave that little toss to her head which was so like Effie’s.
Husband and wife rose and wandered down the garden paths, too well used to the wealth of flowers and the glint of the sparkling sea to remark upon the beauties before them. Mrs. Cossart’s face was displeased, and his was troubled. Presently the sound of a clear ringing laugh broke upon their ears, and Mrs. Cossart uttered a suggestive snort.
“There’s Sheila, on the tennis court, I expect. Come and see for yourself how she plays companion to Effie!”
They moved on till they could command a view of the court from a terrace above, and then a pretty scene revealed itself to their eyes.
On one side of the net stood Ronald, tennis-bat in hand, his white flannels showing off his slight figure to great advantage. On the other side was little Guy, with Sheila superintending, her bat in his hand, as he made vigorous and often successful attempts to send the ball across to his uncle. Sir Guy and Lady Dumaresq sat together in wicker chairs in the shade, and Miss Adene was sketching the group, a smile on her lips, as her clever pencil travelled swiftly over the paper. Sheila was in the plot, and strove to keep little Guy still from time to time in one of his pretty attitudes. Of Effie there was no trace.
“You see!” said Mrs. Cossart triumphantly.
“Yes, my dear; but you know Sheila offered to help with the child when his nurse was taken ill. We must not complain if she keeps her promise. You allowed her to undertake the task.”
“She gave me no choice, speaking it out before Lady Dumaresq as she did. Of course I saw the motive all the while. As though people like that could not get a temporary nurse!”
“Well, they have done that; but of course a Portuguese woman is not like their own trusted servant. Naturally they do not like the boy left much with her. I cannot find fault with Sheila for trying to help. She is so fond of the little fellow.”
Sheila’s voice came up to them just then clear and sweet.
“Oh, isn’t he a darling! Isn’t he quite too sweet? Lady Dumaresq, I hope Taylor isn’t going to get well just yet, I do so love having him. Mayn’t I give him his bath again to-night? He likes it so when I do. And he is such a little duck!”
Mr. and Mrs. Cossart walked down and approached the group.
“Where is Effie, Sheila?” asked the latter.
Sheila looked round quickly.
“Effie? Oh, she was here just now. We were playing tennis against Mr. Dumaresq. We beat him, but I don’t believe he played up,” and she threw a sparkling glance towards Ronald who was strolling up with Guy perched on his shoulder. “Then Guy wanted to play, and Effie sat down; I thought she was here still.”
“The Miss Murchisons came and asked her to go down the town with them in their carro, and hear the band play at the Casino,” said Miss Adene, looking up from her sketch. “There, Sheila, will that do? It is the best I could get—he is a restless little mortal.”
“Oh, but you have got him delightfully!” cried Sheila, taking the sketch-book, her face alight with pleasure. “Oh, isn’t it just that pretty way of his when he tries to hit the ball, and laughs all over his dear little face! See, Lady Dumaresq, isn’t it good? But you can’t have it, for Miss Adene has promised it to me. You know you did, didn’t you—the first good sketch you could catch of him?”
Lady Dumaresq smiled and patted Sheila’s cheek.
“You will make my boy quite vain by your open admiration, my dear; you must remember that he is not quite a baby, and can understand a good deal of what is said.” She looked up at the girl, and then her glance fell upon the Cossarts, and she seemed to divine that something was amiss.
With ready tact she turned to them and said—
“Will you not join us at tea? It is just coming out. We prefer having it brought here to going to the drawing-room; and the people are very kind about indulging us. We want to talk to you about a plan for to-morrow or the next day. We feel we have been idle long enough. We were thinking of taking the excursion to Camacha, and were hoping you would join us. Your daughter seemed pleased with the plan.”
There was something about Lady Dumaresq’s graceful and gracious manner that Mrs. Cossart could never resist. The frown faded from her brow, and she took the seat Ronald brought for her, preparing to be responsive, though she could not forget her regret in Effie’s absence; for naturally Sheila and Ronald consorted together, and they evidently had an infinite number of little jokes in common, and it seemed to her that little Guy made a very strong link between them.
“You know Camacha is a quaint little village lying behind that wooded hill we look at to the right,” said Lady Dumaresq indicating the direction. “It is one of the easy excursions, and it is much more often free from rain cloud than other places in the island. It is about two hours distant, whether we take horses or hammocks or a light carro. We think a picnic up there would be very agreeable. It will be a pleasure to us if your party will join us. The weather is so settled again just now that we feel we ought to take advantage of it.”
“Very kind, I am sure,” said Mr. Cossart heartily. “We shall be delighted to join you. I think I and my old lady had better have a carro, and perhaps two yoke of bullocks, and take the luncheon baskets with us. I suppose you young people will all ride. So would I have done at your age!”
“I think my aunt and my husband will have hammocks,” said Lady Dumaresq, “and I fancy your daughter inclined to that method also. I don’t know whether I can make up my mind to try one. I think I have a greater fancy for a horse.”
“It seems rather cruel work being carried by human bearers,” said Miss Adene. “I did not like it at all at first, but I got used to it. And as they say, it is the men’s livelihood. If visitors do not take hammocks, the bearers starve.”
“We’ll have horses,” cried Ronald, including himself, Sheila, Lady Dumaresq and little Guy in his glance. “Yes, I’ve seen Susa, and he’s got a good little pony, and the boy’s donkey saddle will fit on all right. We’ll take him along with us. The man will walk alongside all the time. Oh, he’ll be as safe as a tree! He’ll like it awfully, won’t you, boy?”
Guy cut capers and clapped his hands. He was a perfectly fearless morsel of humanity, and had ridden the old donkey at home ever since he could get his little legs across its broad back. At nearly four he was wild to have a pony and go with Uncle Ronald and Sheila, and they were equally eager to have him.
When Mr. and Mrs. Cossart went back to the hotel, it was in a more complaisant mood than they had left it.
“You see, my dear,” he said, “they are quite friendly to us.”
“Oh, yes, that is all right enough; but all the same I am not satisfied with the way things are going. I mean to make this excursion to Camacha something of a test case.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know what I mean myself. I mean to keep my eyes well open, and you can do the same. If I am not satisfied with what I see, I have quite made up my mind what to do.”
“And what is that?” asked her husband rather uneasily.
“To pack Sheila straight off home in the Dunraven Castle that is due next Monday or Tuesday.”
(To be continued.)