CHAPTER X. – A MYSTERY

All in good time Nan’s foot got better, but for a week she was kept away from school, and during that week Augusta contrived to rivet her chains. At the end of that time she was able to walk again, and, to her own infinite relief, she went back to school. She learnt her lessons just as carefully as ever; she was pronounced by her teachers to be a remarkably clever and intelligent child; but there was a change in her face. It had not the look that it had worn when first she had come to the Richmonds’, but in some respects its expression was even sadder. Then it was just grief, absolute and terrible, for the loss of her mother; now there was a new expression in the frank eyes and sensitive lips, which puzzled those who looked at her. In process of time Kitty had got over the death of Pip. Her affections were deep, and nothing would induce her to talk about the rat; but she was a merry and happy child in other respects. She would not have a rat again, she said – at least, not for a very long time; but she attended to her mice, and looked after Nora’s rat, and saw that the dogs and kittens were comfortable, and that Polly had a good time in her cage. Not the faintest gleam of suspicion attached itself to Nan. Jack’s share in the death of Pip was likely to remain a secret to the end of time; so also was the true story of Nan’s sprained foot. But what ailed Nan herself? Kitty remarked on the change in her one day to Nora.

“She is not a bit the same, and I cannot make out what is wrong with her,” she said. “Do you think by any chance, Noney, that Augusta has anything to do with it?”

“Oh no!” replied Nora. “Augusta is a very nice girl, and she is extremely fond of Nan: she often says so.”

“Well, I am not quite so sure,” replied Kitty. “I saw her two days ago” —

“Yes; what did you see two days ago?”

“I do not like to tell tales, but I came into the schoolroom quite unexpectedly. I slipped away, and no one saw.”

“Well, go on; you always are so mysterious, Kitty.”

“Nan was crying.”

“Yes.”

“And Augusta was scolding her. I heard Augusta say, ‘If you tell you will be the biggest little fool that I ever heard of.’ Now, why should she say that?”

“Are you sure you heard those words?” asked Nora in a tone of great astonishment.

“Yes, I am certain she said them; and she meant them. And Nan’s face was – oh, so miserable! I got out of the room, and no one knew that I was listening; but I have a great mind to speak to Nan about it.”

“I wish you would. If Nan has a secret on her mind she had much better tell us. She is looking so pale! She seems to have no life in her – no interest in anything.”

“Very well; I will. I will tell her what I overheard.”

Nora and Kitty were as downright and honest as Augusta was the reverse. But Augusta was very clever; she knew well what sort of characters she had to deal with in the two little sisters; and whereas she secretly bullied Nan, held her secret for her, and had her absolutely in thrall, she was careful not to pursue any such methods with the sisters. With them she was open and above-board, delighting them with her apparent frankness, telling good stories, taking their parts, laughing with them – making the schoolroom party a very merry one indeed.

On the evening of the very same day that Kitty had made her small confidence to Nora, Nora and Augusta were walking home together. In consequence of Augusta’s superior age they were allowed to go as far as the Park by themselves, and they were hastening home now to be in time for the schoolroom tea.

“How nice it will be when I am grown-up,” said Augusta. “I shall be fifteen before very long, and then it will not take many years before I am out and enjoying myself. I mean to get mother to take me a great deal into society. I should love balls and parties, and gay frocks, and – and admirers.”

“Oh dear! it is more than I would,” said Nora. “I do not a bit want to be grown-up.”

“You will when the time comes; and of course you are too young to think of it at present. I expect you will look very nice when you grow up, Nora.”

“I don’t care whether I do or not. I don’t care twopence about my looks. I want to do my lessons well, and to learn a good bit, and then to devote myself to natural history. I shall never care for human beings as I care for animals. I want some day to own a complete menagerie or a sort of Zoo. If ever I have money in the future I will buy a great big garden, and have high – very high – walls round it; and I will keep all sorts of animals in great cages – wild creatures, you know – leopards and tigers and pumas. Oh! and wild-cats. And I will have a deep, deep sunken pond with alligators. I suppose I must not venture on a crocodile. I’ll have a snake-house, too. And of course I’ll have lots of domestic animals. I think Kitty will share what money she has with me, so we will make it quite a big thing. We will not want to have anything to do with men and women; we will live alone with our darlings. Oh! I think they are so sweet – so very, very superior to men and women.”

“You are an extraordinary girl,” said Augusta; “but of course you will change when the time comes. You cannot be different from the rest of the world. When I am married, and have a beautiful carriage, and a very rich husband, and heaps and heaps and heaps of money, I will come and see you, and drag you out of your Zoo, and take you about and show people what a pretty face you have; and then a prince will come along and make love to you, and – and you will forget your animals because of the beautiful words of the prince, and the poor animals will be neglected and they will die off because you will have married the prince and have gone away with him. That will be the end of your day-dream, my dear, funny Nora.”

Nora laughed.

“We will see,” she answered. “But, talking of pretty girls, do you not think that Nan will be very, very pretty when she is grown-up, Augusta?”

“Hum!” said Augusta. “Well, yes, if she is happy I suppose she will. Don’t you think there is something funny the matter with Nan, Nora? Can you account for it?”

“I cannot,” said Nora, startled and amazed at Augusta’s words. “I wish you could tell me. Can you throw any light on the change in her?”

“Oh! you have observed the change?”

“Of course I have. And, do you know, it all began the day you came here. Of course, dear little Nan was very sad when first she came to live with mother, but she had got over it, and we were all so fond of her; we thought her such a darling! And she was so merry; she used to laugh so heartily. And she was quite comforted because we gave her Jack as her own special little dog; but now it seems to us that Jack is more your Jack than hers, and Nan is very sad.”

“Poor Nan! I have noticed it myself. I am anxious about her.”

“Then you do not know what is the matter?”

“I think I do partly, but I must not say; perhaps she will tell you herself.”

“Oh! but won’t you say? It does seem unkind to have a weight of care on her dear little mind and not to have it relieved.”

“Why do you always talk about her as though she were such a tiny creature? She is nearly as old as you.”

“She is the same age as Kitty, but somehow she looks and feels younger.”

“Well, if I were you I would not take much notice,” said Augusta. “She will come right all in good time. Of course, you know, it is not as if she had been brought up with you; she was brought up by her mother, who was a very poor woman.”

“It is not poverty that makes Nan so strange and queer at present,” answered Nora.

“I know it is not. I cannot make her out myself, poor child; I am afraid she is naturally of a very melancholy disposition.”

The girls chatted a little longer. Nora had obtained no light whatever on Nan’s trouble, and went into the house feeling worried and distressed.

Augusta managed to rush into the schoolroom before the sisters appeared.

“You must try to be cheerful, Nan,” she said; “they are both suspecting that there is something amiss. You must really rouse yourself or the whole thing will be discovered, and where would you be then?”

“What would happen if it were?” said Nan.

“Happen! I suppose they would forgive you; but, seeing the peculiar circumstances under which you live in this house, I should not like to be in your shoes. Whoever could think well again of a girl who is deceitful?”

“But I am not. Oh! I would tell now – I would tell gladly were it not for you.”

“It certainly would not be very kind of you to get me into a scrape when I did what I could to get you out of one,” was Augusta’s answer. “But come! cheer up – do. We will have some jolly games after dinner; and, if you are an awfully good girl, I have something rather exciting to tell you to-morrow. No, not to-day – to-morrow.”

The girls came in; Miss Roy followed. They had all high tea together at half-past six, and immediately afterwards Augusta proposed games.

She was a splendid leader when there was anything of that sort for her to do, and soon the children – even Nan – were laughing merrily and enjoying themselves to their hearts’ content. It was not until bedtime that Kitty ran up to Nan, put her arms round her neck, looked into her eyes, and said in her sweetest, most coaxing voice:

“Nancy, I am coming into your room early tomorrow morning – quite early. When I come, may I creep into your bed, and put my arms round your neck, and kiss you a lot of times?”

“I should like it ever so much,” said Nan.

“I will come. Good-night, Nan darling.”

Augusta was standing near when Kitty made her petition of Nan.

As Augusta herself was going to bed she went up to Nan and kissed her.

“What did Kitty say to you?” she asked in a whisper.

“Nothing.”

“Nonsense! Tell me at once.”

“She said that she was coming to see me to-morrow morning early, to get into my bed.”

“Oh,” said Augusta, “that sort of thing means confidences. Be careful, Nan; be careful what you are doing.”

Nan said nothing, but went away to her room. When she got there she fell on her knees by the open window and looked out.

It had been a lovely day in spring, and the night was clear, fine, and balmy. Nan opened her window and let the soft air blow on her hot little face.

“It is four months since mother died,” she said to herself; “a great, great deal has happened, and I scarcely know myself. I have learnt to love Mrs. Richmond and the two girls. As to Jack, I think he is the dearest little thing in the world; and I have forgotten Sophia Maria. I have almost forgotten Phoebe; but I still love Mr. Pryor. And, oh! mother, mother, up in heaven, do you see Nan now, and are you pitying her, and are you telling me what is right to do? For I am not a good girl; and as to being the best girl that Mr. Pryor speaks about – oh I – I am more like the worst. And I am so afraid of Augusta! I think I do really, out and out, hate her. I do not know what she means by frightening me and making me so unhappy. Oh! I wish I had never yielded to her. I wish I had the courage to tell Kitty the truth.”

As Nan knelt at the window it came into her head that she might ask God to give her the necessary courage, but then a wild sensation of terror swept over her.

“If Augusta were not in the house I might tell, but Augusta would make it out to be so bad; she told me she would. She told me that if I ever told what I had done she would say that I implored of her not to tell, and she said that her word would be believed before mine; and I know it would, of course, because she is quite old beside me. What a miserable girl I am!”

Nan went to bed, and after a time, wretched as she felt, she fell asleep. But her sleep was haunted by dreams, and it was with a cry that she woke on the following morning when Kitty touched her.

“Here I am, Nancy,” said Kitty. “Just push over to the left side and let me get into your bed.”

Nan made room, and the two little girls lay side by side.

“Now, this is quite cosy,” said Kitty.

“Isn’t it?” replied Nan.

“You are very fond of me, are you not, Nancy?”

“Oh yes; very – very.”

“And of Nora too?”

“Very; I love you both most dearly.”

“And you love mother?”

“Not as I love you two, but I do love her.”

“And you love Augusta?”

Nan was silent.

“I thought you did; you are so much together, and you do such a lot of things for her. Sometimes Nora and I are rather angry when we see you trotting here and there, up and down stairs, fetching and carrying for Gussie. It is all very well, but Gus ought not to put things on you. If you do not like her, why do you do it?”

“Oh! never mind, Kitty. I do it because” —

“Well, because of what?”

“Because I do.”

“That is a very silly reason – and for such a clever girl to give!”

“I cannot help it; that is why I do it.”

“Then let me tell you why you do it,” said Kitty: “because you are afraid of her.”