The Girls and I: A Veracious History. Molesworth Mrs.
occasions, and to-night is quite a small dinner. I've got on all the jewellery I need. But, Jack, do help me to fasten this bracelet, there's a good boy.' Rowley was fussing away at something that wasn't quite right in mother's skirt. Mother was rather impatient, and the bracelet was fidgety.
But at last I got it done, and Rowley stood up with rather a red face from tacking the sweepy, lacey thing that had come undone. Mums flew off.
'Good-night, dears,' she said. 'I haven't even time to kiss you. Father has gone down, and the carriage has been there ever so long.'
The girls called out 'good-night,' and Hebe and I ran to the top of the staircase to watch her go down. Then we went straight back to the nursery, and in a minute or two the three others came in. Maud was saying something to Anne, and Anne was laughing at her.
'Did you ever hear such a little prig as Maud?' she said. 'She's actually scolding me because I was looking at mums's jewels.'
'Anne made them all untidy,' said Maud.
'Well, Rowley'll tidy them again. She came back on purpose; she'd only gone down to put mother's cloak on,' said Anne carelessly.
'Anne,' said I rather sharply. You see I knew her ways, and mums often leaves me in charge. 'Were you playing with mother's jewels?'
'I was doing no harm,' said Anne; 'I was only looking at the way the pins fasten in to that big diamond thing. It's quite right, Jack, you needn't fuss. Rowley's putting them all away.'
So I didn't say any more.
And to-morrow was the Drawing-room day.
Mother looked beautiful, as I said. We watched her start with the two others, cousin Dorothea and Miss Merthyr. It was rather a cold day; they took lots of warm cloaks in the carriage. I remember hearing Judy – we call her Judy now – say,
'You must take plenty of wraps, Mrs. Warwick,' – that's mother. 'My aunt made me bring a fur cape that I thought I should not wear again this year; it would never do for you to catch cold.'
Mums does look rather delicate, but she isn't delicate really. She's never ill. But Judith looked at her so nicely when she said that about not catching cold, that the cross look went quite out of her face, and I saw it was only something about her eyebrows. And I began to think she must be rather nice.
But we didn't see her again. She did not get out of the carriage when they came back in the afternoon, but went straight home to her own house. Somebody of hers was ill there. Cousin Dorothea came back with mother, and three other ladies in trains came too, so there was rather a good show.
And everybody was laughing and talking, and we'd all had two or three little teas and several ices, and it was all very jolly when a dreadful thing happened.
I was standing by mother. I had brought her a cup of tea from the end drawing-room where Rowley and the others were pouring it out, and she was just drinking it, when I happened to look up at her head.
'Mums,' I said, 'why have you taken out gran's diamond thing? It looked so nice.'
Mums put her hand to her head – to the place where she knew she had put in the pin: of course it wasn't there, I wouldn't have made such a mistake.
Mums grew white – really white. I never saw her like that except once when father was thrown from his horse.
'Oh, Jack,' she said, 'are you sure?' and she kept feeling all over her hair among the feathers and hanging lacey things, as if she thought it must be sticking about somewhere.
'Stoop down, mums,' I said, 'and I'll have a good look.'
There weren't many people there just then – several had gone, and several were having tea. So mums sat down on a low chair, and I poked all over her hair. But of course the pin was gone – no, I shouldn't say the pin, for it was there; its top, with the screwy end, was sticking up, but the beautiful diamond thing was gone!
I drew out the pin, and mother gave a little cry of joy as she felt me.
'Oh, it's there,' she said, 'there after all – '
'No, dear,' I said quickly, 'it isn't. Look – it's only the pin.'
Mother seized it, and looked at it with great puzzle as well as trouble in her eyes.
'It's come undone,' she said, 'yet how could it have done? Gran fixed it on himself, and he's so very particular. There's a little catch that fastens it to the pin as well as the screw – see here, Jack,' and she showed me the catch, 'that couldn't have come undone if it was fastened when I put it on. And I know gran clicked it, as well as screwing the head in.'
She stared at me, as if she thought it couldn't be true, and as if explaining about it would make it come back somehow.
Several ladies came up, and she began telling them about it. Cousin Dorothea had gone, but these other ladies were all very sorry for her, and indeed any one would have been, poor little mother looked so dreadfully troubled.
One of them took up the pin and examined it closely.
'There's one comfort,' she said, 'it hasn't been stolen. You see it's not been cut off, and that's what very clever thieves do sometimes. They nip off a jewel in a crowd, quite noiselessly and in half a second, I've been told. No, Mrs. Warwick, it's dropped off, and by advertising and offering a good reward you may very likely get it back. But – excuse me – it was very careless of your maid not to see that it was properly fastened. A very valuable thing, I suppose it is?'
'It's more than valuable,' said poor mother. 'It's an heirloom, quite irreplaceable. I do not know how I shall ever have courage to tell my father-in-law. No, I can't blame my maid. I told her not to touch it, as the General had fastened it himself all ready. But how can it have come undone?'
At that moment Anne and Hebe, who had been having a little refreshment no doubt, came into the front drawing-room where we were. They saw there was something the matter, and when they got close to mother and saw what she was holding in her hand, for the lady had given it back to her, they seemed to know in a moment what had happened. And Anne's mouth opened, the way it does when she's startled or frightened, and she stood staring.
Then I knew what it meant.
CHAPTER III
WORK FOR THE TOWN-CRIER
'Oh, those girls,' I thought to myself; 'why did I leave them alone in mother's room with all her things about?'
But Anne's face made me feel as if I couldn't say anything – not before all those people; though of course I knew that as soon as she could see mother alone she would tell, herself. I was turning away, thinking it would be better to wait – for, you see, mother was not blaming any one else – when all of a sudden Maud ran up. She was all dressed up very nicely, of course; and she's a pretty little thing, everybody says, and then she's the youngest. So a lot of people had been petting her and making a fuss about her. Maud doesn't like that at all. She's not the least bit conceited or spoilt, and she really is so sensible that I think it teazes her to be spoken to as if she was only a baby. Her face was rather red, I remember; she had been trying to get away from those ladies without being at all rude, for she's far too 'ladylike' to be rude ever. And now she ran up, in a hurry to get to her dear Anne as usual. But the moment she saw Anne's face she knew that something was wrong. For one thing, Anne's mouth was wide open, and I have told you about Anne's mouth. Then there was the pin in mother's hand, the hair-pin, and no top to it! And mums looking so troubled, and all the ladies round her.
'What is it?' said Maud in her quick way. 'Oh – is mums' brooch broken? Oh, Anne, you shouldn't have touched it!'
Everybody – mother and everybody – turned to Anne; I was sorry for her. It wasn't like Maud to have called it out, she is generally so careful; but you see she was startled, and she only thought the diamond thing was broken or loosened.
Anne's face grew scarlet.
'What do you mean, Maudie?' said mother. 'Anne, what does she mean?'
It was hard upon Anne, for it looked as if she hadn't been going to tell, and that wasn't at all her way. In another