Miss Con

by Agnes Giberne

MY DEAR NELLIE,—I have written very short letters lately, but nursing has taken up a great deal of time. And besides—I did not want to say too much at first. I wanted to leave Maggie to tell for herself how things have really been. I think Lady Denham felt the same, from something she said one day.
But now all these weeks have gone, and I can see quite clearly from your letters that Maggie has not told,—at least that she hasn't said much. I believe Lady Denham asked her yesterday how much she had explained things to you or Father: for I heard her make a shirking sort of answer. She has learnt that from Millie. It wasn't Maggie's way—once.
She is writing to-day, but I don't suppose she will say much: and I think it is time for me to speak out. You at least ought to understand, for Miss Con's sake: and you may say just as much or as little as you like to anybody else.
Isn't it good of Lady Denham to spend all these weeks in the house, and to look after everything? You should see the calm way in which she rides over Millie's fads and tantrums. I am afraid I do enjoy that. I never liked her or Sir Keith half so well as I do now.
But about Gurglepool, and the accident,—it really was the fault of Millie and the girls,—Millie's most, because she twists Maggie round her little finger, and Maggie manages the rest. Only that doesn't set Maggie free from blame.
They were all very much put out, because Miss Con insisted on going with them to Gurglepool the first time. She thought it safer. And they agreed among themselves to leave her as much as possible alone, while they were there, as a punishment.
Then somebody proposed—I can't find out who, which makes me sure it was Millie,—that they should slip off, and leave her to walk home alone. Such a horrid unladylike trick! Nona was to hide, and they would have a hunt, and Miss Con was to be frightened and left to watch: and then they would all slip away, and Nona would join them outside the valley.
It was done too: and that was how Miss Con was so hurt. She found Nona's scarf on the Gurglepool path, and fancied she saw some one lying below: and in going down, she slipped and fell. I don't think the scarf was left there on purpose.
I was at home with Elfie, and Lady Denham and Sir Keith came in,—quite unexpectedly. They had only travelled from York that day: and they seemed very much disappointed to find Captain Lenox gone.
Well—Millie and the rest came rushing in, all heated, as if from a race. Millie grew demure in a moment, when she saw who was there. Of course, we asked after Miss Con: and Millie said, "Oh, she's just behind!" which was not true, though perhaps Millie tried to think it was. And Maggie grew so red, I felt certain something was wrong.
Sir Keith took the matter up at once, and insisted on knowing all: and there was no getting out of his questions.
Maggie owned at last that it was—"only fun, but they had started first—just for fun—and of course Miss Con would find it out directly, and get home soon."
I never knew till then how severe Sir Keith can look. One likes him the better for it: because it wasn't displeasure for himself, but for somebody else. I detest people to be always and for ever defending themselves: but defending others is quite a different thing.
I know I shouldn't like him to look at me as he looked at Maggie. Lady Denham said outright, in her quiet way, "I am ashamed of you, Maggie!" And Sir Keith just turned away from her, with almost a kind of contempt and I heard him say to Denham—"You—a gentleman!—To leave a lady unprotected in such a place after dusk!"
Then Sir Keith said somebody must go at once to meet Miss Con. Millie, who was tilting up her chin in her offended fashion, declared she couldn't, she was so tired: and Maggie only looked doleful and said nothing. But Denham offered at once,—I think he was so ashamed, he was glad to do anything,—and Nona and I said we would go too. And then we found that Sir Keith meant to be with us.
We went a long way, first by the road, and then over a hill: but of course there were no signs of Miss Con. And by-and-by Denham was puzzled about the right path, when it grew dark. Sir Keith didn't know the short-cut to Gurglepool, as he had never been that way. Nona tried to guide us, but she failed too: and Sir Keith said we must turn back at once, or we should get lost ourselves, and not be able to help Miss Con.
To make matters worse, tremendous rain came on. We were like drowned rats by the time we reached home. Maggie did look miserable then, and no wonder. Millie kept talking, talking perpetually about its being nobody's fault. The one thing in life that she does care for, is to shield her precious self from blame. I suppose I ought not to write so of her, but I cannot like Millie. She is so untrue.
I can't think what we should have done without Sir Keith. He ordered out the waggonette, sent for Mr. Stockmoor, and arranged for two men to go over the hills with lanterns, while he and Mr. Stockmoor and I drove round by the road. It was very good of Lady Denham to let me go. She made me change my wet things, and then actually kissed me, and said, "Don't be frightened, my dear. Miss Conway has probably found shelter in a cottage." Of course that did seem likely, only one could not be sure.
When we reached the valley, the two men joined us. They had seen nothing of Miss Con, and I began to be almost in despair, for Mr. Stockmoor seemed to think she must have wandered away and been lost on these wild hills.
We thought it would be best to go first to the cottage, and on our way we passed close to Gurglepool. One of the men went close with his lantern, and then I heard a shout,—for he had found Miss Con's cloak.
I can't tell you the sort of horror that came over me. I thought she must have fallen into that deep water,—and I thought I should never see my dear Miss Con again. It was very dreadful.
I wasn't allowed to go down the path, and Sir Keith insisted on being the first. Do you know, Nellie, he turned so pale when her cloak was found, and seemed so unhappy all through, that really I began to think he must care very much indeed for her! I don't understand a great deal about such things, and I should hate to have my head always full of love and marriage affairs like many girls, and to be fancying that everything must mean something,—but still I could not help noticing his look that day.
You have heard about the actual fall, and about how Miss Con was found, lying half in water. They say that if the heavy rain had lasted a while longer, she must have been drowned.
Miss Con hardly spoke at all,—except just a whisper about being "so sorry" for Maggie. She gave me one little smile, and then kept quite still,—and all through the drive home she hardly moaned once, though one could see what frightful pain she was in.
Well,—now it is all out at last, and you will understand the state of affairs. Maggie would think me very cruel, of course, to say so much; but I must, for Miss Con's sake. I am writing in confidence: and if you tell anything to anybody, I trust you not to get me into mischief with the rest.
Millie has never vouchsafed one word of sorrow, for what was really and truly her doing: and she never asks to go into Miss Con's room. Miss Con has sent her a kind message once or twice,—or rather a good many times,—but not of the sort that would look like blame. You would never guess from Miss Con's manner that she has anything to forgive. And I can't describe what her patience and sweetness have been all through her illness.
Maggie did seem unhappy for a few days, but she has recovered her spirits wonderfully fast; and she and Millie fraternise as absurdly as ever. Millie is doing Maggie no good,—I can tell you that! But I don't know whether I ought to say it.
If ever I am worth anything in life, and if I don't turn out a stupid grumpish disagreeable being, I can only say that it will be all Miss Con. I mean—well, you know what I mean. Of course it wouldn't be only and all her doing, but somehow nobody else ever really helped me as she does. She helps me by what she says, and a great great deal more by what she is. But Maggie can't appreciate her in the least; and as for Millie, all one can say is, that she has treated Miss Con abominably! I would not have borne it from her in Miss Con's place; and I don't believe things can go on so much longer.
There! I have said enough. No use to work myself to the boiling pitch. I wish you were back.—Ever your affectionate sister—
THYRZA.

[CHAPTER XXVII.]

ELFIE'S CONFESSION.

CONSTANCE CONWAY'S JOURNAL.

Tuesday. September 22.

MY Elfie has come back to me again. It is strangely a comfort to know that her loving heart has been true throughout, only—But I had better be consecutive.

The others have gone on an excursion to a certain cave. Elfie was to have been one of the party: but at the last moment she begged off, pleading faceache and a wish to be with me. Lady Denham yielded, but did not fall in with Maggie's suggestion that "Millie" should go instead. I heard her say in the passage—"Certainly not. I will not have the children left to Miss Conway. They are in Miss Millington's charge." So Maggie came in to say good-bye, with a pout of her rosy lips.

I had intended making an effort to see something of Miss Millington, in the absence of the rest. Hitherto she has kept resolutely aloof: and I cannot go after her. Others perhaps are not aware that I have scarcely spoken to her since my accident. It does not seem quite a right state of things; yet I do not like to make a stir.

So soon as the waggonette went off, Elfie glided into my room. Until to-day she has always appeared with one of her sisters, always looking impassive and dull. But to-day I noted a change of manner. She seated herself close beside the couch, rested her head on my shoulder, and sighed deeply two or three times.

"Something wrong, Elfie?" I asked.