Kitabı oxu: «The Old Pincushion: or, Aunt Clotilda's Guests», səhifə 8

CHAPTER XII.
FOUND

It actually rained the next day!

'Who would have thought it?' said Kathie, with a face of great content. 'The weather so seldom does what one wants.'

'We can set to work immediately after breakfast,' said Philippa. For the rose-coloured silk and the white had come from Hafod the evening before, 'just what one wanted,' and Miss Clotilda had given them the satchet-powder, and had promised to look out some lace that would do for edging. 'We have got everything right now,' the little girl went on, her eyes sparkling.

So they established themselves in the library, with a newspaper spread out on the table to catch all the shreds and cuttings.

'And the bran,' added Neville, as he brought in a paper bag filled with the article in question. 'Bran's awfully messy stuff.'

He opened the bag as he spoke, and plunged his hand in.

'I like the feeling of it,' he said.

Philippa stood gazing at the paper bag.

'Is that bran?' she said, 'Let me feel it too. I didn't know bran was like that,' she went on; 'I thought it was something like cotton-wool.'

'Oh, you silly girl,' said Kathie, but Neville checked her. 'How should she know?' he said. 'She's never been in England till this year.'

But Philippa was not attending. She had pulled back her sleeve, and had plunged her arm into the bag.

'Kathie,' she said, 'that's the stuff my pocket was filled with in my dream. Isn't it funny? For I didn't know about making the pincushions then – and I didn't know till this minute what bran was like.'

She was quite excited about it, and the others agreed it was very curious. But the work soon engrossed them all. Neville had something to do too this morning. He took charge of emptying the cushions of the old bran, and re-filling them, and most interesting work he found it, the first part especially. He shook out the cushions on to another newspaper, and for some minutes did not speak. Then Kathie looked round and asked him what he was doing.

'Oh,' he said, 'this is such jolly fun! Just look here, Kathie and Phil,' and he pointed to a row of needles and a few pins at the side of his newspaper. 'I've found all these in the bran. And I expect there are a lot more, and some ends of old brooch pins – looks like real gold,' he went on, holding up one – 'it's as good as a hunt. You have to spread the stuff out quite thin and flat, and even then you've no idea how the needles hide. Hullo! here's another.'

Kathie and Philippa watched him for a few moments.

'Yes,' said Kathie, 'it's very interesting. But we must get on with our work. And when are you going to fill the cushions with the new bran for us, Neville? I can stitch them up as soon as they are filled, and we must put a little bag in near the top with the scent-powder, Phil.'

'They won't take five minutes to do,' said Neville. 'Will you fetch me a big spoon, Kathie? It'll make less mess.'

And in a very few minutes, as he said, the cushions were filled. Then Neville went back to his needle-hunt, and for a quarter of an hour or so he was quite silent. Then he began to fidget.

'I wish I had some more to do,' he said. 'Kathie, hasn't aunty any more to be made over?'

Kathie shook her head.

'No; the other two she wants to keep as they are for the present, she says,' Kathie replied.

'I've finished this stuff,' said Neville. 'Here – you may divide the needles among you. There are more than thirty. I'm going to keep these brooch pins to test if they're pure gold. Oh, I wish it would leave off raining!'

Suddenly he jumped up and ran out of the room. In about ten minutes he was back again, another old pincushion and two or three pieces of silk in his hand.

'Aunty says I may undo this one,' he said, waving it over his head. 'It's the one out of my own room. I just remembered it was very shabby, and aunty says I may undo it and fill it fresh, if one of you girls will help me to cover the top again. The frill isn't the same silk, you see, and it isn't dirty – the top's all pin-holed. I expect there'll be a jolly good lot of needles in this one. Here goes!' And he took the scissors and began to unpick it.

'How funny you are, Neville!' said Kathie. 'You're quite excited over your needle-hunting. Now just see here, Phil; should we turn in the inside lining or tack it down outside?' and a discussion ensued between the two girls, and they paid no more attention to Neville.

On his side he was very quiet for some minutes. Neither Kathleen nor Philippa heard a curious sound – a sort of smothered exclamation – which escaped him. Nor did his sister notice that he had left his seat and was standing beside her, till he touched her on the arm.

'Kathie,' he said, and his voice sounded strange and almost hoarse, and Kathie, looking up, saw that he was deadly pale.

'Oh, Neville,' she exclaimed, 'what is the matter? Have you swallowed a needle?'

He could scarcely help smiling.

'Nonsense, Kathie,' he said. 'Nothing's the matter. It is this,' and he held out a sheet of note-paper, with some writing on it. The paper looked rather yellow, and was marked here and there at the edges as if it had been stitched. 'This is the paper that was in my pincushion, just like the others. It was meant to have the date upon it, I suppose. But it isn't that – look what it is instead. I can scarcely believe it. I feel as if I was dreaming. I want you to read the words.'

And Kathie read – though with some difficulty, for she too felt as if she were dreaming, and the lines danced before her eyes. They were very few, however, and very legible, in Mrs. Wynne's clear, precise handwriting.

'My will, and some other papers of less importance, will be found in the plate-chest – containing the best silver – underneath the lining of green baize in the bottom of the box. The lining is only tacked in and will be easily removed.

'Davida Wynne.'

Kathie, without speaking, turned the sheet of paper round. On the other side was written, what Neville had not noticed, a date, 'Ty-gwyn, May 15th, 1859,' just as there had been in the other pincushions, only this was an older one.

Kathie's eyes sparkled, and the power of speech seemed to return to her.

'Yes,' she said, 'she had thought this was a blank sheet, and she put the blank sheet in the envelope of "directions," and sealed it up, by mistake. Neville, Neville, Phil, it's it!'

Neville was trembling so, he could scarcely stand.

'What shall we do?' he said. 'I can't bear to risk any more disappointment for aunty. If we could look ourselves, first, but we can't. Suppose it isn't there after all – or suppose it doesn't leave things as they think. She may have changed – Mrs. Wynne, I mean.'

'No,' said Kathleen, 'I'm not afraid of the will if it's there. Mrs. Wynne told aunty almost the last thing that it would be all right. But she may have changed the place of keeping it – though it's not likely. I'll tell you what, Neville – I'll ask aunty if she has ever looked in that plate-chest, and see what she says.'

'Yes,' said Neville, who was recovering his composure by now. 'We might do that. It would make it less of a disappointment if it weren't there.'

'Oh,' said Kathie, 'we could get her to show us the plate-chest even without that. Yes – that will be best. I'm sure I can manage it.'

'But then,' said Neville, 'we'd have to tell her about this paper all the same. We couldn't conceal it.'

'No; but don't you see that there would be no disappointment about it. She would know at once that it wasn't there before she could hope or wonder about it. I don't think she could bear any more "hoping," Neville.'

'No,' he agreed, 'I don't think she could.'

And he felt both pleased and surprised at Kathie's womanly thoughtfulness for her aunt.

'We can't work any more till we know for sure about it,' said little Phil. 'Oh, Kathie, do settle something quickly.'

'I'm going to,' said Kathie. 'Put all our things together neatly, Phil. I'll be back in a minute.'

And in less than five she was back.

'Phil, Neville,' she called out, 'you're to come up-stairs to the locked-up room where aunty keeps the best linen, and the best china, and the best silver. Aunty's going to show it all to us because it's a wet day, and we don't want to work any more.'

'It is better not to tire yourselves over the pincushions,' said Miss Clotilda's gentle voice behind her, 'and you will have all the afternoon for them. I am sure it is not going to clear. So come along. I have got my keys. It is a very good idea of yours, Kathie.'

Up jumped Neville and Phil. Kathie was already nearly at the top of the staircase, Miss Clotilda following more slowly. From the long passage which ran almost the length of the house on the first floor, she led the way down a shorter one, then up a little flight of steps ending in a small landing where there were two doors.

Miss Clotilda pointed to one on the right.

'That was the old butler's room,' she said. 'He left last year, for he was too old to work and he would not rest while here.'

'Is he dead?' asked Neville.

'Yes,' she replied; 'he died a week or so before Mrs. Wynne did. I have often thought,' she added, with a sigh, 'that he might have known something had he been alive.'

She chose a key and opened the other door. It led into a fair-sized room. All round three sides were large cupboards; one or two big cases stood on the floor, and at one side were two strongly-made wooden chests.

'The linen is in those cupboards,' Miss Clotilda went on, 'and the best china near the window. In those boxes there are some new blankets and counterpanes that Mrs. Wynne never saw. They had just been ordered. And those are the two plate chests. Nearly all the silver is laid away.'

Kathie looked at Neville.

'Best and every-day silver all together?'

'Oh, no,' said Miss Clotilda. 'The best is in this one,' and she touched it; 'the other was only brought up here for greater security when Mrs Wynne died, and I had to stay on here alone with Martha. Now, what shall I show you first, children? The china, perhaps, would please you the most?'

'No, thank you, aunty,' said Neville and Kathleen; 'please show us the best silver first.'

Miss Clotilda looked a little surprised.

'Well, I daresay, it is interesting,' she said. 'There are some very curious old things.'

She chose another key as she spoke, and in another moment the lock, which was an excellent one, though very old, was opened. Inside, the chest was divided into several compartments, all lined with green baize; all filled with every kind of silver articles, carefully enveloped in tissue paper.

'You may lift out a tray at a time,' his aunt said to Neville; 'it is astonishing how many there are, and what that box will hold.'

Neville obeyed, indeed he did more than obey; he went on lifting out tray after tray, and placing them in rows on the floor.

'Stop, my dear boy,' said Miss Clotilda, 'let us look at one at a time. You will cover the floor with them – and' —

'Let me take all out,' said Neville. 'I want to get to the bottom of the box. I know how to put them back again.'

Miss Clotilda said no more. Kathie and Philippa came to Neville and peered into the chest.

'That is all,' said Neville. He had grown very pale again, but his aunt did not notice it.

Kathie leant over and felt at the bottom.

'It is soft down here,' she said. 'Is there nothing underneath, aunty?'

'There is a thin cushion. The baize is lined with cotton-wool,' Miss Clotilda replied. 'Some of the trays are the same.'

But Kathie kept feeling about.

'Neville,' she whispered, 'try if you can't pull up one corner. It seems loose. I'll keep aunty from looking.'

She turned to Miss Clotilda, who was already unwrapping some of the papers, with some little question about their contents. Neville bent down over the chest without speaking.

Suddenly he gave a sort of smothered cry, and the little girls looking round saw that he held something in his hand – two things indeed – two packets, not very thick, but long and flat, both sealed and both labelled in clear writing – the one 'Various papers, inventories, &c., to be looked over by David and Clotilda Powys,' and the other – oh, the other!

'My last Will and Testament.'

Neville could not speak. Kathie flew forward.

'Tell her!' he half whispered.

How they told her they could not afterwards recollect. The wits and perceptions are strangely sharpened on some occasions. I suspect very little 'telling' was required, though of course when their aunt had somewhat recovered from the first overwhelming surprise and joy, she was deeply interested in the history of the sheet of paper, and touched by the children's thought for her.

Some hours of suspense had still to be endured, for Miss Clotilda would not open the precious packet except in presence of the lawyer, and Neville was sent off at once to Boyneth to telegraph for him to Hafod, and to beg him to come at once. He came that very afternoon, and then indeed all doubts were set at rest. All proved to be as had been expected, and as Mrs. Wynne had always led her relations to believe would be the case. Everything was provided for, nobody was forgotten; the legacy which Mr. Wynne-Carr had reason to look for was to be his, so that no ill-feeling would be caused to any one.

'Yes, it is most fair and satisfactory in every particular,' said Mr. Price, the lawyer, 'if only my respected friend, Mrs. Wynne, had been less obstinate and eccentric in insisting on keeping the document in her possession! What trouble it would have saved!'

'But,' said Kathie, whom even Mr. Pryce's presence did not overawe, 'I don't think we should have cared about it at all as much as we do if we had never known what it was to lose it;' and in this Miss Clotilda and Neville, and Philippa, who seemed to have become quite one of them, agreed, though as for Mr. Pryce's opinion I cannot take upon myself to answer.

He was honestly delighted, however, and went off that evening laden with directions of all kinds, among them a telegram to be despatched to India at once, 'regardless of expense': —

'From Clotilda Powys, to Captain Powys, 200th regt.

'Will found. All right. Arrange to come home as soon as possible.'

Those, I think, were the words it contained.

'And oh, aunty,' said Kathie, dancing with delight, 'just fancy what papa and mamma will think when they read it. Phil, why don't you look happy? What are you so grave about?'

The little girl blushed.

'I don't mean to be selfish,' she said, 'but – I would so like to go on making my pincushion. You know I've only about ten days more to make it in.'

'Of course you shall, my dear,' said Miss Clotilda. 'Selfish! No indeed, that you are not. And but for you, I do not believe we should ever have found the will at all.'

Philippa looked intensely pleased.

'I always had a feeling it was in the house,' she said. 'And then my dream was very queer. But it wasn't much good, for it was such a muddle.'

'Dreams generally are,' said Miss Clotilda. 'No, I wasn't thinking of your dream. It was your wishing to make something for your mother in the first place' —

'And our going to Dol-bach and seeing the pincushion there, and our travelling with the farmer, and my seeing the old ones in the cupboard —that came of my not posting the letter to aunty, so that our trunks hadn't come, and aunty had to open the cupboard to get out a night-gown for me – and – and – oh, dear, how strange it seems! Really as if it was a good thing I forgot to post the letter.'

Miss Clotilda could not help smiling.

'Don't let that encourage you to think carelessness of any kind "a good thing," my dear Kathie,' she said, 'even though good does sometimes come of ill.'

'And it was a sort of carelessness that caused all the trouble, you see. If the old lady – old Mrs. Wynne – had only looked at the paper before she put it in the envelope, there wouldn't have been any, would there?' said Philippa, in her little prim way.

'Poor Mrs. Wynne!' said Miss Clotilda. 'She would have been the last to wish to cause any of us any trouble.'

'Well, all's well that ends well, aunty,' said Neville cheerily. 'We have nothing but nice and jolly things to think of now. Do let us talk about how soon papa and mamma can possibly get home.'

'All's well that ends well,' as Neville said, and what is more, when 'all is well,' there is very little to tell about it. Sooner almost than could have been hoped for came a telegram in reply from Captain Powys, announcing the date at which he and the children's mother and little sister might be expected.

The leaves were still on the trees, and Ty-gwyn looking almost as pretty as in full summer when the travellers arrived to find Kathleen still with her aunt, though poor little Philippa had had to go back to school at the end of the holidays.

But she came to see her friends again before long, and this time for more than a visit, for it had been arranged that during the three years of her parents' absence she was to live with the Powyses altogether, and share Kathie's lessons.

So Miss Clotilda's pleasant castles in the air came to be realized. I doubt if any happier family was to be found anywhere than the good people, big and little, in the old white house near the sea, that Christmas when Neville came home for his holidays, to find them all there together.

And in one corner of the library, under a glass shade and on a little stand all to itself, is a queer old-fashioned-looking sort of box, covered in faded silk, and seemingly rather out of place among the pretty things with which the room is adorned. But no one thinks it out of place when its history is told, and it is known to be the old pincushion, the very identical old pincushion, which for so many years had held the secret of the missing will!