CHAPTER XVII.
rthur Saville waited in vain by the schoolroom fire, for his sister did not join him. And when he entered the dining-room in response to the summons of the gong, she had not yet made her appearance.
Mrs. Asplin looked at him with uplifted brows.
“Where is Peggy?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since she went upstairs. The little wretch can’t have hurried very much.”
“She hasn’t been with you, then! Never mind, there is plenty of time to come. She must be making a special toilette for your benefit.”
But when the first course was nearly over and the girl had not yet appeared, Mrs. Asplin grew impatient and despatched the servant to hasten her movements.
“Just tell her that we have been at table for nearly ten minutes. Ask if she will be long.”
Mary left the room, was absent a short time, and came back with an extraordinary statement.
“Miss Peggy is not in her room, ma’am.”
“Not in her room! Then she must have come downstairs. Perhaps she didn’t hear the gong. Just look in the schoolroom, Mary, and in the other rooms too, and tell her to come at once.”
Another few minutes passed, and back again came Mary, looking flushed and mysterious.
“I can’t see Miss Peggy anywhere, ma’am. She has not come downstairs.”
“You have looked in the drawing-room—Mr. Asplin’s study?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you go upstairs again?”
“No, ma’am. I had looked there before.”
“Esther dear, you go!” cried Mrs. Asplin quickly. “Bring her down at once! What in the world is the child doing? It’s most extraordinary!”
“She’s not given to playing games of hide and seek just at dinner-time, is she?” asked Arthur, laughing. “I am never surprised at anything Peggy does. She has some little prank on hand, depend upon it, and will turn up in good time. It’s her own fault if she misses her dinner.”
“But it’s so extraordinary! To-night of all nights, when you have just arrived! I wish the child would come!” replied Mrs. Asplin, craning her neck forward to listen to the cries of “Peggy! Peggy!” which came from the upper storey.
The door stood open, and everyone ceased talking to follow Esther’s footsteps to and fro, to count the opening and shutting of doors—one, two, three, four, five—to look apprehensively at each other as the messenger returned—alone!
“Mother, she is not there! I’ve looked everywhere—in every corner—and she has not changed her dress, nor washed, nor anything. The room looks exactly as if she had never gone in; but she did, for we all followed her upstairs. I looked over the wardrobe, and all her dresses are there, and the can of hot water is untouched, and the gas left full up.”
“Oh dear, what can have happened?” Mrs. Asplin pushed back her chair and stood up, looking anxious and puzzled. “I cannot rest until she is found! I must look myself! Go on with dinner, all of you; I won’t be long. Where can the child be hiding herself?”
“Don’t worry, mater!” said Arthur kindly. “It’s very tiresome of Peggy to disappear at such an inopportune moment, but no harm can have happened to her, you know. It’s impossible! As I said before, she has probably some wild prank in her head of which this is a part. I’ll give her a lecture when I catch her for spoiling dinner like this, and such an uncommonly good dinner, too!” And Arthur smiled in cheery fashion and tried his best to keep up the failing spirits of the company by chatting away while his hostess was out of the room, as if nothing had happened which was the least unusual or alarming.
When Mrs. Asplin returned, however, after a lengthened absence, there was a simultaneous rising from the table to listen to her report.
“She is not in the house! Jane began at the top and I began at the bottom, and we searched every hole and corner. I have looked in the very cupboards and wardrobes! I even searched the cistern-room, but she is not to be found. I don’t know what to do next. It seems impossible that she can have disappeared—yet where can she be?”
“Have you looked in the cloak-room to see if any of her outdoor things are missing?”
“I went in, but I never thought of looking at her clothes. Outdoor? What on earth should take the child out at this hour in the dark and rain?”
“I can’t tell you that, dear, but we must think of every possibility. Esther, you know best what Peggy had in the cloak-room—see if anything is missing. Mellicent, run upstairs and find if any hats or jackets have been taken from their places. If she is not in the house, she must have gone out. It was most thoughtless and foolish to go without asking permission, and at such an hour; but, as Arthur says, there is not much chance of any harm befalling her. Try not to work yourself up into a state of anxiety, dear; we shall soon find your truant for you. Well, Esther, what is it?”
“Her mackintosh has gone, father, and her red Tam-o’-Shanter, and her snow-shoes. Her peg is next to mine, and there is nothing on it but her check golf cape.”
“She has gone out, then! What can it mean—to-night of all nights, when she was so happy, when Arthur had just arrived, when she promised to be downstairs in ten minutes——”
“It is most extraordinary! It must have been something of great importance, one would say. Does anyone know if Peggy had any special interest on hand at present? Was there any gift which she wished to buy? It does not happen to be anyone’s birthday to-morrow, does it? Yours, Arthur, for instance? No? The birthday of a school-friend, then? She might suddenly have remembered such an occasion and rushed out to post a letter——”
“But there is no post until to-morrow morning, so she would gain no time by doing that. The postman called at five o’clock, and the letters were on the hall table waiting for him as usual. I do not know of any work that she had on hand, but the girls have complained that she has spent all her spare time in her room lately, and when I spoke to her about it she said she was writing——”
“Perhaps she is writing a book,” suggested Mellicent thoughtfully. “She says she is going to be an authoress when she grows up. I think Robert knew what she was doing. They were always talking together and looking over books, and I heard him say to her, ‘Bring me all you have finished, to look over.’ I said something to her about printing some photographs for Christmas cards, and she said she could do nothing until after the nineteenth.”
“The nineteenth!” echoed the Vicar sharply. “That is to-day. We gather from that, then, that Peggy had been busy with work, either by herself or in conjunction with Robert, which had to be completed by to-day. Nobody has the least idea of what nature it was? No? Then I shall go to Robert’s room and see if there is anything lying about which can give me a clue.”
“I’ll go with you, sir,” said Arthur, who was beginning to look a little anxious and uneasy as the moments passed by and brought no sign of his sister; but, alas, the scattered papers on Rob’s table gave no clue to the mystery!
When one is endeavouring to find a reason why a girl should mysteriously disappear from her home, it does not help very much to find a few slips of paper on which are written such items as “Tennyson’s Poems, page 26,” “Selections from British Authors, 203,” “Macaulay’s Essays, 97,” etc.
Arthur and Mr. Asplin looked at one another, puzzled and disappointed, and had no alternative but to return to the dining-room and confess their failure.
“Would not it be a good thing to go up to the Larches, and hear what Robert has to say on the subject,” Arthur asked, and when he was told that Robert was in London, he still held to his suggestion. “For someone else in the house may know about it,” he declared. “Rob may have confided in his mother or sister. At the worst we can get his address, and telegraph to him for information, if she has not returned before we get back. She might even have gone to the Larches herself to—to see Rosalind!”
“Peggy doesn’t like Rosalind. She never goes to see her if she can help it. I’m quite sure she has not gone there,” said Mellicent shrewdly. “It is more likely she has gone to Fräulein’s lodgings, to tell her about Arthur. She is fond of Fräulein.”
The suggestion was not very brilliant, but it was hailed with eagerness by the listeners as the most probable explanation yet offered.
“Then I’ll tell you what we will do. I’ll go off to the Larches,” cried Arthur, “and one of you fellows can see Fräulein and find out if Peggy has been there. We must try every place, likely and unlikely. It is better than sitting here doing nothing.”
Max frowned and hesitated. “Or—er—or you might go to Fräulein, and I’ll take the Larches! It is a long walk for you after your journey,” he suggested with a sudden access of politeness, “and there seems more probability that Fräulein may be able to help us. You could go there and back in a short time.”
“Just as you like, of course. It is all the same to me,” returned Arthur, in a tone which plainly intimated that it was nothing of the sort. Mrs. Asplin looked from one to the other of the flushed faces realising that even in the midst of anxiety, the image of beautiful, golden-haired Rosalind had a Will-o’-the-wisp attraction for the two big lads, but her husband saw nothing of what lay behind the commonplace words, and said calmly—
“Very well, then, Max, be off with you as fast as you can go. Find out if Robert has said anything about the work which he has had on hand; find out his address in town, and, if possible, where a telegram would reach him this evening. Arthur will call at Fräulein’s lodgings, and, Oswald, you might go with him so far, and walk through the village. Ask at old Mrs. Gilpin’s shop if Miss Saville has been there, but don’t talk about it too much; we don’t want to make more fuss than we can help. Keep your eyes open!”
The three lads departed without further delay; the Vicar put on his coat and hat preparatory to searching the garden and the lanes in the immediate neighbourhood, and the womenkind of the household settled down to an hour of painful waiting.
Mrs. Asplin lay back in her chair, with her hand to her head, now silent, now breaking out into impetuous lamentations. The fear lest any accident had happened to Peggy paralysed her with dread. Her thoughts went out to far-away India; she imagined the arrival of the ominous cablegram; pictured it carried into the house by a native servant; saw the light die out of two happy faces at the reading of the fatal words. “Oh, Peggy, Peggy,” she groaned. “Oh, the poor father—the poor mother! What will I do? What will I do? Oh, Peggy, dearie, come back! come back!”
Esther busied herself looking after a dozen little domestic arrangements, to which no one else seemed capable of attendance, and Mellicent laid her head on her mother’s lap, and never ceased crying, except for one brief interval, when she darted upstairs to peep inside the old oak chest, prompted thereto by a sudden reminiscence of the bride of the “Mistletoe Bough.” There was no Peggy inside the chest, however; only a few blankets, and a very strong smell of camphor; so Mellicent crept back to her footstool, and cried with redoubled energy. In the kitchen the fat old cook sat with a hand planted on either knee, and thrilled the other servants with an account of how “a cousin of me own brother-in-law, him that married our Annie, had a child as went a-missing, as fine a girl as you could wish to see from June to January. Beautiful, kerly ’air, for all the world like Miss Mellicent’s, and such nice ways with her! Everybody loved that child, gentle and simple. ‘Beller,’ ’er name was, after her mother. She went out unbeknownst, just as it might be Miss Peggy, and they searched and better searched”—cook’s hands waved up and down, and the heads of the listeners wagged in sympathy—“and never a trace could they find. ’Er father—he’s a stone mason by trade, and getting good money—he knocked off work, and his friends they knocked off too, and they searched the country far and wide. Day and night I tell you they searched, a week on end, and poor Isabeller nearly off her head with grief. I’ve heard my sister say as she never tasted bite or sup the whole time, and was wasted to a shadow. Eh, poor soul, it’s hard to rare up a child, and have it go out smiling and bonnie, and never see nothink of it again but its bones—for she had fallen into a lime pit, had Beller, and it was nothing but her skeleton as they brought ’ome. There was building going on around there, and she was playing near the pit—childlike—just as it might be Miss Peggy....” So on and on. The horrors accumulated with every moment. The housemaid had heard tell of a beautiful little girl, the heiress to a big estate, who had been carried off by strolling gipsies, and never been seen again by her sorrowing relations; while the waitress hinted darkly that the time might come when it would be a comfort to know force had been employed, for sharper than a serpent’s tooth was an ungrateful child, and she always had said that there was something uncanny about that little Miss Saville!
The clock was striking nine o’clock when the first of the messengers came back to report his failure; he was closely followed by a second; and, last of all, came Max, bringing word that nothing had been seen or heard of Peggy at the Larches; that neither Lord Darcy nor Rosalind had the faintest idea of the nature of the work which had just been completed; and, further, that on this evening Robert was escorting his mother to some entertainment, so that even if sent off at once, a telegram could not reach him until a late hour. Mrs. Asplin turned her white face from one speaker to the other, and when the last word was spoken, broke into a paroxysm of helpless weeping.
(To be continued.)
[HOUSEHOLD HINTS.]
Hot Sweet Mango Chutney.—One hundred green mangoes; syrup of four pounds of brown sugar; three quarts of vinegar; four pounds of tamarind, stoned and strained; eight or ten bay-leaves; one pound of ground chillies; two pounds sliced ginger; one pound of raisins; and two pounds of salt.
Peel and cut the mangoes into fine slices, and steep them in salt for twenty-four hours, remove the mangoes from the salt water, and boil in syrup and three quarts of vinegar. When quite cool lay in a preserving pan, sprinkle over the remaining salt, add all the condiments, tamarind, raisins, etc., and allow the whole to simmer for half-an-hour, stirring all the time. The ingredients should not be washed in water. When quite cold, put into bottles.
Hungarian Tea Loaf.—As this is intended for slicing as bread and butter it should be at least a day old before being cut; if kept in an airtight tin it will remain moist for several days.
Of Hungarian flour take a pound and mix with it two ounces of castor sugar and a pinch of salt. Dissolve two ounces of fresh butter and add it to half a pint of warmed milk, then a whole egg well beaten and two tablespoonfuls of brewers’ barm, or an ounce of creamed German yeast. Make a dough with the flour and these ingredients and leave it to rise for an hour or two in a warm place. Place in a well buttered tin, which the dough should only half fill, and put this into a brisk oven; when well risen brush the top over with the white of an egg and sugar, shield with paper to keep from burning and finish baking in a slower heat. Let it cool on a sieve.
Seed Bread, made from bread dough into which two ounces of dissolved butter, as much sugar and a tablespoonful of crushed caraways to every pound of dough are kneaded together, then baked in small loaves, cut thinly and spread with butter, makes a welcome variety among plain cakes.
[FROCKS FOR TO-MORROW.]
By “THE LADY DRESSMAKER.”
The principal thing that strikes one in the dressing of to-day is the great stress laid upon the ornamentation of the front portion of both the dress and the jacket, mantle or cape. In fact, here is centred the whole of the smart effect of the costume. The use of real lace seems very great, and I have noticed in the daily press a statement that the Queens of the various kingdoms have bonded themselves together, on the invitation of the Queen of Portugal, to wear nothing but real lace, and to encourage this industry to the utmost of their powers, as it seems its very existence is threatened by the machine-made laces, which have reached a great point of perfection within the last few years. It is even said that none but an expert would know the difference between some of the imitations and the real thing. Of course, we know that great efforts have been made to help the real lace industry already, but it is evident that it is not a thing that everyone could afford, so that the machine laces must be used; but it is quite befitting that the Queens of the many States interested should help by wearing it exclusively. Our own Queen has always been a great patron of the English-made laces, especially Honiton, and one cannot imagine her Majesty wearing anything but real laces, of which it is said she has an immense store.
I saw the other day a priceless cape or scarf of real French lace, worn over a sable cape; and the collars of capes are frequently lined with lace, which finishes in a bow and ruffles in the front. Entire lace fronts are worn both to dresses and coats. In fact, those who possess antique lace to-day are quite in luck, while those who do not, wear the machine-made, which looks (save to the eye of the initiated) quite as good, and in a great deal better state of repair, perhaps. Many old-fashioned women will not have their lace cleaned, but prefer to wear it yellow, and what the outside world might call dirty; and real lace, even when cleaned, never should look as if it were clean, as the cleaner should know how to bestow a yellow cast upon it, which a machine-made lace could not equal. All old laces seem to be fashionable, but the old French lace more than all. I have seen a good deal of Venetian point as well.
THREE NEW COATS.
Our first large illustration shows three of the newest jacket shapes, or rather coats, of the present season. Two of them follow the fashion closely in being rounded at the front corners, with a wide effect at the shoulders, which comes to a point at the waist, thus giving that effect of length and thinness to the figure which is so much sought after. One really wonders sometimes where all the short-waisted people have gone. It is quite wonderful what changes Dame Fashion can work even in the human frame. Only think of the sloping shoulders in vogue fifty or sixty years ago, and then look at the square shoulders of to-day. Even in the matter of our foreheads we follow the orders of the reigning mode, and that decrees “that foreheads low and wide are to be worn,” and even these are veiled to the eyebrows with frizzled hair. But there is one fashion which mankind follows rather too closely, and that is bald-headedness. It is really dreadful to note the numbers of bald heads, and surely when we women have improved so much in the care and preservation of our locks, our hair doctors might do something for men. It is quite a common thing to see really fine heads of grey and white hair, and the wearing of caps has nearly ceased to be a fashion, for women wear the head covering with which nature provided them. Of course, there are probably a few added locks, but still the head shows no signs of baldness, and even the days of those terrible thin partings seem over. There is a great saving in this emancipation from caps, for they were a serious expense to the poor lady, which was only lightened when a woman was clever enough to make them for herself.
COSTUME OF GREY CLOTH WITH BLACK VELVET AND STEEL ORNAMENTS.
But my chat about the illustrations has diverged from its course, though I am very glad to record here the disappearance of certain prejudices that used to be rampant amongst us. False teeth and false hair were things that one never dared to own up to having. Now we know that if we wish to retain our health and strength we must replace the teeth we have lost, and we have also learnt that a pleasant and taking appearance lends us favour and influence for good, and that it is our duty to attend to this matter as much as to any other, from higher reasons than from those of mere vanity.
IN THE HOUSE AND OUT.
In “Three New Coats,” the centre figure wears a black Velours du Nord, or velvet coat, which is cut quite without fulness at the back, and has a chinchilla collar and wide revers. The skirt is of grey, and it is also trimmed with narrow bands of chinchilla, put on in a pointed shape in the front, and going round the edge of the skirt at the back. The hat is of black velvet and white feathers, with paste buckles. The jacket of the next figure sitting down is made of light brown cloth, trimmed with bands of lighter brown braid. The collar and revers are made of a darker shade of brown velvet and edged with beaver. The skirt is of the same cloth, but made in quite a plain fashion. The standing figure has a coat made with one of the new capes fitted to the shoulders and neck. The dress itself is of rifle green cloth, made without trimming, and the coat is short. The front is a plastron edged with dark beaver fur, and trimmed across with cords to match the green of the dress. The hat is green, with white feathers.
A great number of white fox boas and muffs are to be seen this winter, and the figure in the illustration we have called “In the House and out” wears one of them. They are very becoming and pretty, and look well with everything. In this case the toque is made to match the boa and the gown, which is of violet velveteen. The new boas of this winter are made flat, not round, and they are lined with either satin or a pretty fancy silk, so they protect the shoulders in a slight degree. There is also white Tibet lamb, which is now dyed to resemble the blue fox. The second figure, dressed for indoors, wears a dress of the new red. The collar and revers of the short Eton coat are trimmed with black satin ribbon. A silk vest underneath the coat is made of a red silk broché with a black pattern on it. The skirt is trimmed with a black ribbon, and has a rounded front, which is brought up as far as the waist at the side. There is a lace necktie and some trimming inside the high collar. The leading colour in Paris just now is red, and the trimmings for it are generally bands of black velvet or satin. For the red hats to be used with these dresses Parma violets are the favourite trimming.
The shade of red worn may be best described as a hunting pink, in fact, a real scarlet, and as it must always be trimmed with black, astrachan is in great favour for its decoration. So is black velvet, and thus toned down, it cannot be called ugly. It is, moreover, very becoming to people with good complexions and fair skins. The small red jackets are seen very frequently worn with a skirt of another colour, which really ought to be black, and which harmonises with them best of all. These little jackets are worn by the best-dressed people, and are especially nice and bright for young girls, not in their teens, but in their twenties, perhaps.
Never has velvet been so popular as this winter, and, of course, in naming velvet I include velveteen, which is often of so good a quality that it looks like the real thing. I have always found a good velveteen an excellent investment, and if treated with care, and used as the “going-out-of-doors” dress which it really ought to be, it is very valuable. Every tone and shade of colour can be obtained in it, and as velvet blouses are still in fashion, we can select with ease either for day or evening wear.
Our third illustration shows a single figure wearing a costume of grey cloth, which is cut into what is called by some of our writers an eel-skin skirt. But I observe that in France it is merely called a fitted skirt, which really means that the dressmaker must bestow just as much trouble upon it as she does on the bodice, and that you must distrust everyone who wishes you to believe otherwise. I notice that paddings for the back and hips are already for sale, and much advertised, but this tightly-fitted skirt is not for the short and stout, nor for the tall and very thin. On neither of them can it be esteemed a success. The dress in our illustration is in grey cloth, with black velvet trimmings and bands, and steel ornaments, a delightful combination of colour. The back of this dress is really princess, while the front has the style of a short double-breasted jacket, very short. This combination is one of the new cuts of the season. The shaped flounce is headed by rows of black velvet, and the sleeves are made with square cuffs, not the much-worn “flare” cuff. The toque is of grey velvet, white silk and feathers, and grey tips, with steel ornaments.
One can scarcely see any real change in the dressing of the hair. All that one can say is that there is a decided tendency for it to go lower on the head, and the present hats and bonnets really answer better when the hair is rather high. There are plenty of small ornaments for the hair to be seen in the shops, but the most popular of all for the evening is, I think, the black velvet bow.
The favourite perfume is still violet, and Violette de Parme seems to be the correct kind. I note that the pretty black moiré ribbons with slides have now been applied to the muff, and have taken the place of muff chains with many people.
One of the odd fashions of the day is a single eyeglass, and many women have taken to it. This hitherto has not been a woman’s fashion, but a man’s, and has even been thought rather an affected one; but I hear that these single eyeglasses are prescribed by doctors, as so many people require help in one eye and not in the other. Just now, however, they look odd, as we have not been used to them, and it is certain that both eyes should be worked alike, the strain being too much for one. Besides, the eye that may need extra help may be the left one. So an oculist should decide the question as to which eye should wear the glass.
[GIRLS AS I HAVE KNOWN THEM.]
By ELSA D’ESTERRE-KEELING, Author of “Old Maids and Young.”