Star of India, Alice Perrin [best ereader for manga .txt] 📗

light of this subsequent catastrophe, to recall the hopeful description she had given of poor Charles's child! The confession of Stella's downfall, should they decide to consult Colonel Crayfield, would be a painful undertaking; but he was such a worthy, dependable character, and who could be more fitted, as they all agreed, to give counsel in such a terrible predicament than the child's own sponsor—the trusted friend of the dead father, since there was[Pg 24] no male member of the Carrington family to whom they could appeal?

Last time Colonel Crayfield came home, ten years ago, he had spent a couple of days at The Chestnuts—rather a trial for hostesses who were unaccustomed to the entertaining of gentlemen, but on the whole the visit was felt to have been a success. Mamma and Augusta had even suspected that he was attracted by Ellen, though, according to Carrington custom, neither had voiced the idea. Ellen, however, could have given him no encouragement, for nothing came of it, suitable as such an alliance would have seemed on both sides. Colonel Crayfield was that amphibious production of the Indian services—a military man in civil employ, holding responsible, well-paid office; on the occasion of his brief visit to The Chestnuts he had not disagreed with Miss Augusta when she expressed her admiration of missionary efforts in the East; he had only just tasted the wine that was offered him; he had not smoked in the house, though the pantry was at his disposal for the purpose. All these good points were recalled during the discussion that ensued as to whether he should be approached for advice concerning his goddaughter's future, and such recollections went far towards shaping the final decision of grandmamma and Augusta, tearfully supported by Ellen. The whole dreadful truth should be written to Colonel Crayfield, with an urgent invitation to visit The Chestnuts once more.

Meantime Stella was on her way home, shamefaced, unhappy. The fuss at Greystones had been frightful, the whole affair bewildering—the [Pg 25]condemnation, the feeling of hopeless inability to defend herself; then the hasty packing, the self-righteous, disparaging attitude of the girls, and the stares of the servants; the humiliating departure, sentinelled to the last moment by Miss Ogle herself, wrathful and stern, who put her into a compartment for ladies only, in the care of the guard.

The time that elapsed between her return to The Chestnuts and the day of Colonel Crayfield's arrival was to Stella a species of purgatory. Grandmamma and the aunts hardly spoke to her, she was forbidden to go beyond the garden, no explanation of her conduct was invited, though, indeed, what explanation could she have given, since it was perfectly true that Miss Ogle had caught her receiving a note from a strange young man; and with it all she had not even had a chance to read the note—she would have given worlds to know what the young man had written!

The culprit was sent to the station in the village wagonette to meet her godfather, and she welcomed the distraction, awkward though it would be to face Colonel Crayfield in the uncomfortable circumstances. The situation struck her as almost grotesque; here she was, driving through the familiar lanes in the late July sunshine, as an outcast and a sinner, to meet an old gentleman who had been summoned to sit in judgment upon her! And, after all, she had done nothing worse, nothing half so bad, as Maud Verrall; and Maud had not been expelled from school as a sort of leper. She wished Maud was at The Court; but that happy young creature was disporting herself in London, and Stella had not the spirit left to write to her.

[Pg 26]

Arrived at the little countryside station, a six-mile drive from The Chestnuts, she seated herself on a bench to await the train from London, and gazed vacantly at the white palings, at the dazzling herbaceous border, butterflies floating above it. She felt sorely oppressed, but more from a sense of misfortune than from shame or repentance. How unlucky she was! The future held nothing enjoyable; she saw herself living on at The Chestnuts indefinitely. Grandmamma might die some day, but she and the aunts would grow older and older, and they would all continue to sing in church that they dared not choose their lot, and would not if they might. Stella remembered the case of Miss Spurt, the only daughter of a clergyman in a neighbouring parish, who, two or three years back, had run away with her father's groom-gardener. The scandal had petrified the county; whispers of it had reached Stella's sharp ears, though the subject was never mentioned in her presence at The Chestnuts. Now she wondered what had become of Miss Spurt, and she even began to sympathise with the poor girl's mad action.

Supposing she herself were driven to do the same sort of thing; to elope, for example, with the solitary porter who stood leaning against the waiting-room wall, should he suggest such a desperate step! She regarded him with idle attention, feeling stupefied with the prevailing somnolence of the station, the heat of the shadeless, empty platform; he was a fresh-looking boy, with a cap on the back of his head and a curl of glistening hair plastered to his forehead. Suddenly he stood erect, stretched his arms, gave[Pg 27] a loud yawn, and seized a handbell that he rang with deafening clamour. So here was the train at last, thank goodness!

One or two people hurried, perspiring, breathless, on to the platform; a few more ran over the rails from the opposite side, there being no footbridge; the station-master emerged from his office and took up a commanding position. The train rumbled in.

During the long, hot journey from London, Colonel Crayfield had been repenting his good-natured acquiescence to what seemed to him a rather exacting, inconsiderate request. At first his fancy had been tickled by the notion that he, an elderly bachelor, should present himself in this semi-parental rôle; also he was anxious to see the little girl, his godchild, who apparently threatened to follow in her mother's footsteps, though from what he remembered of Charles Carrington, she was more likely to have inherited unstable tendencies from her father! Charles had always been foolish and weak where affairs of the heart were concerned; but in his final "affair," with the young wife of a singularly unsuitable husband, he was certainly more to be pitied than blamed. That time he had really been done for, and he had behaved well in the circumstances; he, Colonel Crayfield, had stood by the guilty pair, and helped Charles to change his regiment, had consented to be sponsor to the unwelcome child. But, with the usual result of good-natured actions, it seemed that his responsibilities were never to end; and partly for the sake of Charles Carrington's memory, partly to[Pg 28] satisfy a newly aroused interest, here he was on his way to give counsel to three old prudes in the matter of a naughty girl who had got into a scrape at school! What form this counsel was to take he had not the remotest idea; he knew nothing about schoolgirls; probably it was all a storm in a teacup. What on earth had persuaded him to waste his time in such useless fashion!

As he stepped out of the train in company with a few women bearing market baskets and a sprinkling of farmers wearing breeches and gaiters, he wished again that he had not yielded to sentiment and curiosity; visits bored him; he had been bored on the last occasion, ten years ago, when he had gone on duty to The Chestnuts. He remembered the ordeal well: Charles's formal, austere old mother, his uninteresting sisters, the undrinkable wine, Charles's child of six or seven years old, who had sniffed and fidgeted and refused to make friends, and was no different from other children of her age; he even remembered that the village was a long distance from the station, and he hoped that neither of the Carrington spinsters had come to the station to meet him.

Stella, standing expectant on the platform, saw a powerful-looking man, clean shaven, blunt-featured, inclined to stoutness, who moved ponderously—rather like a big Chinaman, a mandarin. As she stepped forward he stared at her, and the stare gave her an odd feeling of shyness. She would have to introduce herself; he did not know that she was to meet him at the station. He was not at all what she had [Pg 29]expected; she had pictured a fussy old person with a protruding stomach, a beard, and spectacles!

Colonel Crayfield was equally taken aback. His experienced glance had been instantly arrested by the vision of a remarkably good-looking girl, tall and slim, who, though her skirt only reached to her ankles, whose hair was tied back with a large ribbon bow, was clearly no child; and he had gazed at the vision as he would hardly have permitted himself to gaze had he realised that the girl was his goddaughter! All the same, the situation entertained him; he no longer wished he had refused to respond to Miss Carrington's appeal.

Colonel Crayfield raised his hat. "Then you are Stella—my godchild? How d'ye do, Stella?"

The radiant brown eyes met his own. What an unnecessarily pretty creature; no wonder there had been trouble connected with boys!

"Yes, they sent me to meet you," and she flushed with the consciousness that he knew of her misbehaviour.

"Very kind of them to send you; very kind of you to come!" He looked around. "Now for my bag," he added briskly, "and then we can be off."

Stella sighed with mingled doubt and relief; instinctively she felt that to Colonel Crayfield she was no criminal. Yet the remembrance of his glance when he first set eyes upon her, not knowing who she was, still disturbed her strangely. She abandoned all attempt to understand the doubt, and allowed her relief full play. Her spirits rose. During the drive to The Chestnuts she chattered freely, pointing out[Pg 30] landmarks, telling stories of the people and the past; and never once did her godfather allude to the reason of his coming, for which consideration she was deeply grateful.

On arrival at The Chestnuts even the solemn faces of grandmamma and the aunts could not depress her; she sprang from the wagonette and ran into the house with a gaiety most unbecoming in one who had been expelled from school on a charge that was truly shocking.

After tea she escaped, went down to the stream at the bottom of the garden and watched grandmamma pacing the terrace in front of the house on Colonel Crayfield's arm. Grandmamma wore her brown bonnet and her cashmere shawl, and carried her ebony walking-stick. Stella ached to know what they were saying; of course, it was to do with herself, and how she should be punished. If only that nice old fellow would devise some means of escape for her from her deadly imprisonment!

Mrs. Carrington was saying: "Stella is very irresponsible, and does not seem to realise how badly she has behaved. I fear she has inherited her mother's light nature, and what we are to do with her is a problem. It is not as if we could hope for a suitable marriage in the future, situated as we are."

"It is a difficult question," said Colonel Crayfield evasively. His eyes turned to the slim figure that flitted beside the stream. He knew by the weighty silence that followed that he was expected to make some useful suggestion.

[Pg 31]

At last he said desperately: "If I were not a bachelor and could offer her a chance in India——" then he paused.

Grandmamma glanced at him furtively. Was he thinking of Ellen? What an admirable solution of the difficulty were he to marry Ellen, and thereby not only secure a most suitable wife for himself, but provide an equally suitable haven for Stella till the child could be settled in life. And just at that moment, as if in response to the old lady's thoughts, Ellen herself came out of the house. Really, Mrs. Carrington reflected, Ellen did not look anything like her age, and she was dressed so becomingly—not too much in the present fashion, which all three ladies considered so ugly. Grandmamma suddenly discovered that she was fatigued; that she had taken sufficient exercise for to-day, and would step into the drawing-room for a rest before dinner. Oh, dear no!—Ellen and Colonel Crayfield must not trouble about her; no need for them to come indoors just yet on such a pleasant evening; she would prefer to be quiet, and perhaps a short nap....

So Ellen and Colonel Crayfield took a little stroll in the garden, and the gentleman also took the opportunity to make a request connected with his