Queenie's whim, Volume 1 (of 3)

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

"Emmy will eat these, she is so fond of buns," she thought, and she asked for a glass of water, which the woman gave civilly enough, telling her that she looked faint, and ought to rest for a little while; but Queenie thanked her and shook her head.

For a little while she walked on aimlessly; she felt stunned and broken, and felt that she dared not face Emmie until she had recovered herself. She was too weak to walk far, but where could she go? she could not face Caleb's eager questioning, she thought, and yet his house was her only haven. Service at the cathedral had long been over, the minor canon and some of the choir boys had brushed past her in the High-street, laughing and talking merrily; if she could only go and sit there for a little, until she felt stronger. Then she remembered, in a dazed sort of way, that she had heard that the workmen were doing some repairs in the nave, and were working late; it might be worth her while to find out if they had left one of the doors open. She felt a momentary sensation of pleasure at discovering this was the case. One or two of the men were still there, and the organist was practising some Christmas anthems. Queenie crept into one of the canon's carved stalls and listened. A light gleamed from the organ, but the altar and choir were in deep shadow. The men were laughing over their work; a beautiful tenor voice broke out with Gounod's 'Bethlehem,' the organ pealed and reverberated through the dim aisles.

Christmastime, "peace and good will on earth the angels' song," sounding through all time. Alas! what peace in the sore, rancorous heart of the old man she had just left! Ought she not to feel pity for one whom the good angel of mercy had forsaken?

"The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel." Where had she heard those words? In church of course. Was Mr. Calcott wicked, or was he simply a soured, vindictive man, who considered himself ill-used by the world?

Her step-mother had loved him and had left him, and then had yearned after him with a bitterness of yearning that had shortened her life. Why had she accused herself, on her death-bed, of selfishness in leaving him? She had hinted indeed more than once of some great trouble that had warped his nature in early manhood; and yet what brother had a right to demand the sacrifice of a sister's whole life? Her step-mother had no morbid views of duty, but she had chidden herself for so leaving him.

There must be some mystery of which even Caleb was ignorant. Caleb and his fellow-clerks spoke shudderingly of the fits of ungovernable rage to which Mr. Calcott was subject at times; and Queenie knew that for many years he had led the life of a recluse. People spoke of him as an eccentric person, a misanthrope, in fact; but he was not generally disliked, though his clerks and servants feared him. He gave largely in charities, and was always first in the subscription list in the town, and spoke much at vestries. The firm of Calcott and Calcott had always been respected in Carlisle, but of late he had withdrawn almost wholly from public life, and people said his health was failing. Queenie pondered over this problem till her head ached, and the organ changed melody and broke out into a sweet minor key; then a magnificent solemn prelude, sounding the keynote of every possible pain, an infinite march of woe tracing the footsteps of a Divine majestic life, and wrapping wonderful meanings and solemn hints in every chord—and Queenie knew she was listening to Handel's unrivalled overture to the 'Messiah.'

The sadder music pleased her better and made the tears flow, a luxury not often indulged by the overtasked governess. After all, would she change places with the miserable man she had left? Her trials were great no doubt, but she had youth and health and energy, and Emmie and Cathy loved her. By-and-by, when this dreadful winter was over and spring came, they would go down to Cathy's home, and Emmie would be a happy child for some weeks at least; they must live in hopes of that. After all there must be a meaning in the pain they had to bear; and then Queenie thought of a strange picture she had seen as a child, painted by a poor crazy artist living in their neighbourhood, at least her father had said he was crazy, though she and her step-mother had thought otherwise. It was called "The March of Suffering," and it was explained to Queenie that it was an allegorical picture of life. Her father had pished and pooh-poohed it as a dismal caricature, but her step-mother had shed tears over it, she remembered; one of the figures had attracted them both—a young girl with a sweet, resolute face, carrying a spiked cross in her bleeding hand, an old man before her had fallen down, and lay with his grey hair grovelling in the dust, and, still holding the torturing cross firmly with one hand, she had stooped to raise him.

The face and figure lingered in Queenie's childish memory, and recurred to her mind as the solemn notes of the 'Messiah' reverberated through the cathedral. "My cross has spikes too," she thought; and then the workmen went out noisily shouldering their tools, and the young man with the tenor voice came clanking through the choir, and stared at poor pale Queenie as though she were a ghost, and the organ died away with a long plaintive wail.

Queenie followed them reluctantly; the buns were still in her pocket, but she had forgotten her faintness. As she stepped out into the dark narrow close she could see the windows of the Dean's house brightly illuminated, a few stars shone in the December sky. a cutting wind lurked round every corner, a faint vaporous moon shone over the cathedral.

It was too cold to linger; even the dark, cheerless school-room, with its cindery fire and insufficient light, would be better than the streets of Carlisle on such a night. Emmie would be wondering, too, what had become of her, and be picturing her all this time seated in Caleb's easy parlor: at this thought she drew her thin cloak closer round her and hurried on.