'I didn't know' – began the girl, but it was no use; her sobs and tears burst out, and she rushed away – up to her own room, nearly knocking down Mossop on the stair.
'Why, child, whatever's the?' – she began; but Ruth only shook her head and flew on. She had been warned not to complain to Cousin Ellen, and she wasn't going to do so. She cried till her eyes were 'like boiled gooseberries,' and then, suddenly remembering where she was, and that she had her work to do, she tried to cure them by plunging her face into cold water, and with aching head and still more sorely aching heart, crept down-stairs with her needlework to the corner of the servants' hall where she sat of an afternoon.
'If only I could run away! oh, if only I could run home!' she said to herself.
Betsy consoled her in her own way, which was not a very wise one, though kindly meant, when the two girls were alone in their room at night.
'I wouldn't take on like that for all the chinay bowls in the world,' she said. 'Things must get broken sometimes. Not but what you brought it on yourself by telling. I'd have left it there where it fell, and let them think the cat did it.'
'But, Betsy, I promised my lady and mother too, as I'd always tell if I had any accident,' wept Ruth.
'And what did my lady promise?' said Betsy. 'Leastways I was promised as I'd never be scolded if I up and told if I broke anything. Catch me! I'll not risk it. And if you'd any sense, you'd not trust their fine words no more than I do.'
'It wasn't my lady. I don't believe she'd scold. But Naylor is really dreadful when she loses her temper,' and Ruth shivered at the mere recollection.
'Then take my advice, and don't you tell on yourself never again, whatever happens.'
Ruth did not answer. She was tired out, and did not feel as if she could argue with Betsy. The next day things had calmed down again. Naylor was quiet and rather subdued, and nothing more, rather to Ruth's surprise, was said about the bowl. But the girl felt nervous and upset. It seemed to her as if it would be long before she got back the happy bright confidence she had been so full of.
But Ruth was very young; at her age troubles do melt away, however terrible they seem at the time. She had felt inclined at first to write off a long letter to her mother, telling her how miserable she was, and how she didn't think she could bear it. But a little reflection showed her that this would only make Mrs. Perry very dull and uneasy about her, and still more that if 'father or the boys' got hold of the letter – and it would, she knew, be rather hard for mother to keep it from them – they might insist on her being fetched home again, and there would be a nice ending to her first start in life! How everyone would laugh at her, and besides – would she not deserve to be laughed at, if she showed so little courage and patience? On the whole she decided to wait a bit, and in this I think she was right. It is a very different thing when a girl away from home conceals from her parents anything really wrong: Ruth had not done wrong; and indeed no one was much to blame for the trouble, except Naylor for losing her temper. And – and – after all, Ruth asked herself, would it be quite nice for her to write off a long description of the housemaid's infirmity, for a real infirmity it was? She did not want to lower Lady Melicent's household, and perhaps have Naylor gossiped about in the neighbourhood through her. For there was no saying how her indignant brothers might chatter. Anyway she would wait till she could have a talk with Cousin Ellen.
This came on Sunday. As Ruth was starting for the children's service in the afternoon, which she had been told she might always attend, as it only came once a month, she heard some one calling her, and standing still to see who it was, in another moment Mrs. Mossop appeared.
'O Cousin Ellen,' said Ruth joyfully, 'are you coming to church? I am so glad.'
'I thought maybe you'd like a walk and a talk with me,' said the lady's-maid. 'I've not seen you to speak to since Wednesday, and I thought it best not to seem to be seeking you. But I was sorry, child; sorry both for you and for the accident. You must be very careful, Ruth.'
'I was as sorry as sorry could be,' said the girl. 'Indeed I'd have done anything if I could have got another bowl. But – did you know how Naylor spoke to me, Cousin Ellen?' and Ruth hesitated a little. 'It was just awful.'
'I know how she is,' said Mossop, 'but it's no use thinking about it. I was just glad of one thing, and that was that you told at once.'
Ruth hardly seemed to feel this cheering.
'I could almost have wished I hadn't told,' she said. 'I don't know what I'll do if ever I have to tell anything again.'
'Don't say that, my dear,' said Mossop, eagerly. 'After all, Naylor isn't my lady, and it's her temper. You'll find it much worse in the end if you hid anything, believe me. Have you written to your mother about it?'
'No,' said Ruth, 'I thought I'd wait,' and she went on to explain her reasons. Mossop approved of them.
'Yes,' she said, 'wait a bit. Writing makes things seem so much worse. Telling is different. Maybe I'll be going over to Wharton some day, and I could tell your mother. You'll feel all right again soon, and it's to be hoped you'll have no more bad luck. I can't say but what I was very put out myself about that basin – real "Severs" it was. I suppose, to go to the roots of things, it was my fault for having left it about. I said so to my lady.'
'Oh dear, Cousin Ellen, I'm sure no one could ever think you to blame,' said Ruth. 'Indeed, indeed, I will try to be careful.'
Her tone was rather melancholy still. Mossop looked at her with a little smile.
'I'm much mistaken if you won't be hearing something in a day or two that'll cheer you up. But I mustn't tell you about it.'
And Ruth could not persuade her to say more.
CHAPTER III. – THE OLD CABINET IN THE PASSAGE
The very day that Ruth was crying about the broken basin, a conversation which concerned her, though she little knew it, was going on a good many miles away.
In a pretty room in a large country-house – a much larger and 'grander' house than the Towers, a lady, sweet and young, was lying on a sofa. In front of her stood a little girl – a pretty little creature of eight or nine. She had a bright expression usually, but just now she seemed uncomfortable and ill at ease. She fidgeted from one foot to the other, and frowned as she looked down, and her face was flushed.
'Tell me, Flossie,' said the lady. 'You're quite old enough to explain. Why don't you want to go to grandmamma's? I should feel so happy about you with her while I am away, and then papa and I will come to fetch you when I am quite strong again.'
'Mayn't I go with you, mamma?' said the child.
Mrs. Vyner shook her head.
'No, dear, it is impossible. You must either go to grandmamma's or stay here with Miss Kelly. And if you don't go to the Towers, I must tell grandmamma that you don't want to go.'
'No, no,' said Flossie, 'don't do that, mamma; I'll go, but please don't be long away. And please tell grandmamma that I'm too little to be always in her room. Mayn't I have a nursery, like at home?'
'I thought you loved being a great deal with grandmamma,' said Mrs. Vyner in a disappointed tone. 'I don't understand you, Flossie. However, you are to have a sort of nursery, and there is a very nice young servant there who is to take you out and amuse you. For I should be sorry to disappoint Miss Kelly of her holiday when she has had none for so long.'
Florentia's face brightened a little.
'I'll go into the boudoir as seldom as I can, and never along the passage to the book-room,' she murmured to herself, but her mother did not catch the words.
It was a week or so after this – fully a week, it may have been ten days, after Ruth's accident – that Lady Melicent sent for her one morning to speak to her. Ruth felt just a little frightened; surely nothing was going to be said about the basin now, so long after?
But the old lady's kind face reassured her.
'I sent for you, Ruth,' she said, 'to tell you that for a few weeks your work is going to be a little changed. Not disagreeably so, I hope. My little grand-daughter, Miss Vyner – Miss Flossie they generally call her – is coming to stay with me while her parents are abroad. Her nursery governess is to have a holiday, so we must take care of her ourselves. Mossop will superintend, but you, Ruth, will be with her altogether. You will dress her, and take her out and amuse her. I feel that I may have confidence in you, for you have been carefully brought up, and you have shown that you are obedient and straightforward. I was sorry for my bowl to be broken, and I hope in future you will be more careful, but I was very glad you told about it.'
Ruth flushed a little; partly with shame, for she did feel she had been careless, but more with pleasure. She was glad to have pleased Lady Melicent, and she was delighted to hear the news. To be under Cousin Ellen instead of Naylor was nice of itself, and to have the care of little Miss Flossie would be a treat!
'Thank you very much, my lady,' she said timidly. 'I will do my best, and indeed I will try to be more careful.'
She felt in such good spirits the next day or two, that she did not mind the rather grim looks she got from Naylor. Not that Naylor minded a little extra work to oblige my lady, but she felt sure Ruth would have her head turned once she was removed from her authority, even for a time.
A week, then a fortnight, passed. All was ready for the little visitor. Two days before her arrival Ruth was sweeping the passage leading to the book-room early one morning, when her glance again fell on the cabinet and its contents. It was a very sunny day, and the bright rays showed off as before the green casket, and revealed at the same time that the cabinet was very dusty indeed. Ruth drew near. To a very tidy, expert housemaid there is a sort of fascination in dust. Her fingers quivered.
'I'm sure Naylor often forgets that cabinet,' she said. 'She'd much better let me do it. And what's more, I will, just for this once.'
She lifted off carefully some of the ornaments, and placed them safely on the floor. Then she raised the green casket, admiring it as she did so, when, oh horror! The lid seemed in some extraordinary way to detach itself, and fell to the ground with a sharp sound; and when the girl, trembling with fear, stooped to pick it up, she saw it was in two pieces; a corner, a good-sized corner, was broken off! For a moment or two, Ruth was really too appalled to move; then she looked at it closely. It was a neat fracture, by replacing it on the box, and 'standing' the whole on the cabinet again, the breakage did not show. Just then Ruth heard Naylor's voice; quick as thought she put back the two or three uninjured ornaments beside the casket as usual, and flew down the passage to the book-room, and there Naylor found her a few minutes later, quietly dusting. The temptation to conceal this new misfortune was too great, and Ruth yielded to it.
At first she only said to herself she would wait till the evening – Naylor was in a fussy humour, she could see. But evening came, and then next morning, and her courage grew ever fainter, till at last came the day Miss Flossie was expected, and then Ruth felt it was too late. She could not tell now, and have a scene like the last time, just as the little lady arrived. And evidently Naylor had not discovered the breakage, though the cabinet and the ornaments were carefully dusted. This puzzled Ruth a little; she could only suppose that the upper-housemaid dusted with her feather brush without moving the things about. And she tried to put the matter altogether out of her mind, though there were times – when she knelt to say her prayers, morning and evening, was the worst time – that she could not succeed in doing so, and more than one night she cried herself to sleep, crying more bitter tears than even the day Naylor had been so harsh and unkind. For then Ruth's conscience was clear. Ah, the difference that makes!
Florentia proved to be a quiet, easily-managed child. Indeed she was rather too quiet in the opinion of her grandmother and the old servants, who had known her much more lively.
'Are you quite well, darling?' asked Lady Melicent one day. 'I never hear you racing about and laughing as you did in the winter. Wouldn't you like a nice game of ball in the long passage? You could play with Ruth at the end near the book-room where there is no furniture.'
'No, thank you, Granny,' the little girl replied. 'I'd rather go out a walk with Ruth. I like best playing in the garden.'
'And you like Ruth, dear? She is kind to you, I am sure?'
'Yes, thank you, grandmamma. I like Ruth, and she likes playing in the garden best too.'
A sudden thought struck Lady Melicent. 'Flossie,' she said, 'will you run and fetch me the atlas which you will see lying on the side-table in the book-room. Your mother wants me to show you where they are now, on the map.'
Flossie hesitated. Lady Melicent and she were in the boudoir.
'In the book-room?' she repeated.
'Yes,' said her grandmother decidedly, 'in the book-room. Be quick, dear.'
Flossie went. But she was not quick, and when after some minutes she returned, she seemed rather out of breath.
'Why have you been so long? It doesn't take a minute to run down the passage,' said the old lady.
Flossie grew red.
'I went the other way,' she said. 'I don't like the passage. I went down-stairs, and up the back-stairs.'
Her grandmother looked at her keenly.
'What a strange idea!' she said. 'Do you think there is an ogre in the passage?'
But Flossie did not laugh or even smile. And just then Ruth came to fetch her. Lady Melicent sighed when she was left alone. 'I wonder,' she thought, 'if I took Ruth into my confidence, if perhaps she might help to make Flossie tell. I can see the child will not be happy till she does, and I do not want to ask her. I should be so afraid of making her deny it. Ruth behaved so well about my beef-tea bowl, I am sure she has nothing underhand about her.'
And the old lady looked quite anxious and depressed.
Ruth and her little charge meanwhile were sauntering slowly up and down the garden. In spite of Flossie's saying that it amused her to 'play' in the garden, it did not look very like it. She seemed spiritless and dull, and Ruth too appeared to have lost her usual bright happy eagerness. Neither spoke for some time; at last Ruth half started, as it suddenly struck her that she was scarcely fulfilling her duty.
'Miss Flossie, dear,' she said, 'wouldn't you like a game? It's not warm to-day, and we're walking along so slowly. Shall I fetch your ball or your hoop? Or would you like to run races?'
'No, thank you; I'd rather just walk along,' said the child. Then after a moment's silence she went on. 'I don't like much being at the Tower House now. Do you like it, Ruth? Would you not rather be at your own home?'
Ruth hesitated.
'Yes, for some things I would,' she said. 'But I was very pleased to come here.'
'Were you?' said Flossie, rather incredulously. 'You don't look very happy. I thought so the first day. I wrote to mother that you had a kind face, but not a happy one.'
'Did you, Miss Flossie?' exclaimed Ruth, rather taken aback. 'Well, at home I was called the merriest of everybody, and, and – I've been merry here sometimes.'
'But you're not now, Ruth,' said Flossie gravely. Then she peered up into the little maid's face with her big gray eyes. 'I'll tell you what, Ruth,' she said, 'I believe you've something on your mind. It's very bad to have something on your mind. I know about it,' she went on mysteriously.
Ruth grew scarlet.
'You know about me having something on my mind, Miss Flossie,' she said. 'What do you mean?'
Flossie did not at once answer.
'I hate passing that way,' she murmured to herself. 'I shut my eyes tight not to see the cabi – . What are you staring at me like that for, Ruth?' she broke off suddenly, finding the girl's eyes fixed upon her. 'I only said it's very bad to have something on your mind, and so it is.'
Ruth by this time was as pale as she had been red.
'But what do you mean – how do you know, Miss Flossie? How do you know I have anything on my mind, and what were you saying about the old cabinet?'
'I was speaking to myself. You shouldn't listen,' said Flossie crossly. 'I've something on my mind, but you needn't ask about it. You may be sorry for me, just as I'm sorry for you, but you needn't ask questions about what it is.'
'I – I wasn't asking questions,' said Ruth, more and more bewildered. 'I was only wondering why – what – what made you speak of the old cabinet in the passage? Did anyone – Naylor or anyone – say anything about it since you came, Miss Flossie?'
It was Flossie's turn to start.
'No,' she said, 'of course not. Nobody knows – oh, I wish I hadn't come here!' she suddenly broke off, 'and I wish you wouldn't speak of horrid things, Ruth. You weren't here in the winter; you couldn't know. And oh, I am so unhappy,' and throwing herself into Ruth's arms, the little girl burst into loud weeping.