The Palace Beautiful: A Story for Girls by L. T. Meade (free reads .TXT) 📕

for a friend. Oh, Jasmine, Jasmine! I'm so very miserable!"

Daisy again broke into weak sobs, and poor Jasmine could scarcely soothe her.

A little before noon Primrose and Miss Egerton, and a tall, grave, kind-looking man, who went by the name of Dr. Griffiths, and was a great friend of Miss Egerton's, came up the stairs.

Both Dove and his wife saw them go, and Dove shook his hand at Dr. Griffiths, as that gentleman walked up the stairs. They all three went into the attics, and the doctor had a long talk with the little patient—he felt her pulse and her head, and looked into her eyes, and tried to induce her to laugh, and did succeed in getting one little startled and half-frightened sound from the child; then he went back into the sitting-room, and had a long talk with Primrose and Miss Egerton. The upshot of this was that Miss Egerton went sorrowfully away, for the doctor absolutely forbade the girls to move from their present quarters for another week or fortnight. At the end of that time he said Daisy would be better, and might have got over the foolish fancy which now troubled her, but for the time being she must be yielded to, and at any risk kept easy in her mind.

Miss Egerton went very sorrowfully away, and upstairs to the rooms she meant to make so pretty.

"There is no special hurry about the furnishing, Bridget," she said to her servant. "Little Miss Daisy is too ill to be moved for the present."

"The men have come round to be paid for the bits of furniture, leastways, ma'am," answered Bridget, "and the foreman from the other shop is standing in the hall, and wants to know if you'll settle with him now, or if he shall call again."

"I'll settle with him now, Bridget. Dear Miss Primrose left some money in my charge yesterday morning, and I can pay the man at once."

One of the rules of Miss Egerton's life was never to leave a bill unpaid for twenty-four hours, if possible—she hated accounts, and always paid ready money for everything. She now ran downstairs, and unlocking her desk, took out Mr. Danesfield's envelope. Primrose had begged of her to open it when the bills came in, and pay for the furniture—Primrose seemed to have an absolute prejudice against unfastening that envelope herself.

Miss Egerton opened it slowly now, smiling as she did so at the quaint inscription on the cover. A folded sheet of paper lay within—she spread the paper before her, expecting to see the three five-pound notes folded within its leaves—blankness and emptiness alone met her view—no money was inside the envelope—the whole thing was a cruel fraud. The poor governess fairly gasped for breath—there lay the bill for six pounds nineteen shillings which she had incurred, making sure that she could meet it out of Primrose's money. Primrose had spoken so confidently about her little nest-egg, and behold, she had not any!—the envelope was a fraud—the girl had been subjected to a cruel practical joke.

Miss Egerton was extremely poor—it was with the utmost difficulty she could make two ends meet. She thought hard for a minute—then her brow cleared, and she rose to her feet.

"Better I than those orphan girls!" she said, under her breath, and then she went to her desk again, and filled in a cheque for the amount.

"I can do without my winter cloak, and my black merino dress will last me for some weeks longer if I sponge it with cold tea, and re-line the tail," she said to herself. "Any little privation is better than to hurt the hearts of the orphan girls."

She paid the man, who signed the receipt, and then she let him out herself. As she did so a young man came hastily up the steps—he had a bright face, and running up to the governess, he seized both her hands in his.

"Oh, Arthur, how glad I am to see you!" said Miss Egerton.

CHAPTER XXIX. A BLESSING.

Miss Egerton took Arthur Noel—for it was he—straight back into her little sitting-room, and sitting down on her worn little horse-hair sofa, and raising her eyes anxiously to the young man's face, she told him the story of the attic upstairs, of the furniture she had purchased, of the girls she had meant to serve. She showed him, with hands that trembled, the envelope with its queer inscription, and she unfolded for his benefit the empty sheet of blank paper. She told her story at once without any reservation, even relating with a little hasty blush how she felt obliged to pay for the furniture herself.

Perhaps Arthur Noel was the only person in the world to whom she would have made this confession; for she was one of those who made it a practice never to let her right hand know what her left did, but she had known Arthur from his boyhood, and he was one of those men who inspire trust and sympathy at a glance.

He listened to the story with interest, and even excitement—he was naturally enthusiastic, but even Miss Egerton had never seen him so perturbed and so moved as he was at present.

"I know about those girls," he said at last; "what are their names?—I am sure I know about them. Nay, let me ask you a question—Is not one called Jasmine? Has she not a piquant face, and very soft and yet bright eyes, and a great lot of curly brown hair? Yes, Miss Egerton, I am sure the girls you speak of are in a certain sense my girls; for if they are the ones I mean I took them under my protection long ago."

"Their name is Mainwaring. My dear Arthur, where and how have you met them? My dear boy, I fully believe, I have always believed, in your good intentions, in your wish to do your utmost for every one; but if you have really known Primrose, and Jasmine and Daisy, and have taken them, as you say, under your protection, I must say that of late you have lost sight of them—you have not been as kind as you generally are to people in difficulties, for I never met three more absolutely friendless girls than these."

"It was a good Providence sent me here this morning," said Noel. "You are quite right, Miss Egerton; I did lose sight of the children. I tried to follow them, but they managed to hide themselves most effectually. Think of my coming up to see you this morning, with a message from Mrs. Ellsworthy, and finding that our lost lambs are all but safe in your kind fold. How relieved my dear mother-friend will be!"

"Mrs. Ellsworthy is the kindest and best of women," said Miss Egerton; "I will receive your message presently, Arthur, but you puzzle me more and more when you tell me that she too knows my girls. I came across them quite accidentally. They called to ask me to give Jasmine lessons in English composition, and I took a fancy to them, and, in particular, felt drawn to the little one—for she reminded me of—, but no matter! The girls have been in and out of my house ever since. I saw that they were fearfully independent, but in many trivial ways I tried to help them. Well, Arthur, it is most surprising—it is altogether incomprehensible, but never during the months we have been seeing each other daily have they alluded to you or the Ellsworthys. They seemed perfectly unconstrained, and chatted many times of their cottage home in the country, but they never spoke of the Ellsworthys."

"They would not be likely to do," answered Noel. "I think, Miss Egerton, I must now tell you Mrs. Ellsworthy's and my side of the story."

Certainly Miss Egerton appeared to neglect her duties that morning; fortunately, her school had not yet re-opened, but Bridget waited for orders, and the tradesman left the house unattended to. Bridget knew that Miss Egerton was always greatly taken up with Mr. Noel, and she had to admit that he was a bonny-looking young man with a pleasant face; but Bridget hitherto had given her mistress credit for always putting duty before pleasure. What, therefore, did her present neglect of household management mean?

Arthur Noel had a long story to tell, and Miss Egerton listened, weighing each point, and not giving too undue sympathy to either party. Noel was of course enthusiastic in Mrs. Ellsworthy's cause, and announced his intention of going to see her that very day.

"She is in town," he said; "and if you give me the girls' address I can bring her to them this afternoon."

But here Miss Egerton laid her thin hand on the young man's arm.

"No, Arthur, I won't betray their secret, poor little dears! they may have been headstrong, and silly, and rash, and, poor children, they may fail utterly, but they have not failed yet by any means, and if they wish not to be tempted into a luxurious and dependent life, even by the kindest friend, I, for one, will stand by them. You have come on me by accident, Arthur, and have learned about the girls by accident; you have no right to tell what you have thus discovered. I have studied those girls' characters and I know that Primrose at least would die of a broken heart if her independence were taken from her. No, Arthur; if you wish really to help them you must put them in the way of earning their own living, and in this manner the Ellsworthys can doubtless assist, for they are rich, and have influence."

Then Miss Egerton and her guest had another long and earnest discussion, at the end of which time a compromise was arrived at. Noel might tell the Ellsworthys that he and Miss Egerton knew where the girls lived, and the Ellsworthys might give in-direct help by aiding him in his efforts to find suitable work for Primrose and Jasmine—he too, could be their open and acknowledged friend, and he arranged with Miss Egerton to call and see them that very afternoon.

Finally, Miss Egerton again drew his attention to the envelope, which was only given to mock, as it contained nothing but blank paper.

Noel examined it carefully.

"This must have been given to the girls by Mr. Danesfield, the banker at Rosebury," he said. "I know him well; he is the last person who would play them such a trick. Don't you think, Miss Egerton it is quite possible that this envelope may have been opened, and the money removed?"

"But the envelope does not look tampered with," answered Miss Egerton, turning it round, and examining it carefully.

"Thieves are very clever," answered Noel. "It is easy to open an envelope by holding it over steaming water."

"But Primrose always kept this letter locked up in her trunk."

"Well, I will settle the point by writing direct, and in strict confidence, to Mr. Danesfield. In the meantime let us say nothing to Miss Mainwaring; and you will let me pay for the furniture, kind friend."

But Miss Egerton's face flushed brightly, and she drew back a step or two.

"No, my dear boy, I cannot. Since I drew that cheque I have felt strangely happy. I think this very small act of self-denial will bring me a blessing, and I don't wish to be deprived of it. Good-bye, Arthur; come to see me again at three, and I will take you to my girls."

CHAPTER XXX. VOICE OF THE PRINCE.

Daisy felt quite certain that the Prince had come. Jasmine greeted her old friend of St. Paul's Cathedral with sparkling eyes and effusive words of welcome. Primrose, too, was very pleased to see any one who brought such a contented look into Daisy's little face, for the child asked herself to sit in his arms, and laying her head on his shoulder, she listened with pleasure to some wonderful fairy stories which he related. While Noel was by, Daisy seemed quite to forget her nervous fancies—she even spoke confidentially of ogres who tried to make themselves friendly, and she asked Arthur, with a very puzzled, anxious face, if a little girl, who was so unfortunate as to have an ogre for a friend, could ever get rid of him.

"Oh, yes; he might turn into an enemy," answered Arthur.

But here poor Daisy shuddered violently, and turned very white.

"No, no," she said; "not into an enemy, never into an enemy, dear Mr. Arthur."

"What matter is it to you, little maid?" answered Arthur cheerily, though he regarded her with very keen observation. "There is no ogre going to trouble you as either friend or enemy; If he does he will have to meet me. I am the Prince, you know, and my mission in life is to slay the wicked ogres."

"Oh! but his poor wife and his children!" half