Back To Billabong - Mary Grant Bruce
"I'll be there," Cecilia nodded. "You had better give me the half-hour's
grace, though, in case I might be held up at the last moment. One never
knows--and Avice and Wilfred are excellent little watchdogs."
"Anyhow, you won't have the she-dragon to reckon with, and that's a
big thing," Bob said. "I don't see how you can have any trouble--Papa
certainly will not give you any."
"No, he won't bother," said Cecilia slowly. "It's queer to think how
little he counts--our own father."
"A pretty shoddy apology for one, I think," Bob said bitterly. "What has
he ever done for us? But I'd forgive him that when I can't forgive him
something else--the way he has let you be treated these two years."
"He hasn't known everything, Bobby."
"He has known quite enough. And if he had the spirit of a man he'd have
saved you from it. No; we don't owe him any consideration, Tommy; and
he saw to it years ago that we should never owe him any affection. So
we really needn't worry our heads about him. By the way, there are to be
some Australians on the Nauru who General Harran says may be of use to
us--I don't remember their names, but he's going to give me a letter
to them. And probably there will be some other flying people whom I may
know. I think the voyage ought to be rather good fun."
"I think so, too. It will be exciting to be on a troopship," Cecilia
said. "But, then, anything will be heavenly after Lancaster Gate!"
She hurried home, as soon as the little meal was over, knowing that
Mrs. Rainham would be impatiently awaiting her. Luckily, her success in
matching the trimming made her stepmother forget how long she had been
away; and from that moment until a welcome four-wheeler removed the
mistress of the house on Wednesday, she sewed and packed for her
unceasingly. Her journey excited Mrs. Rainham greatly. She talked
almost affably of her sister's grandeur, and of the certainty of meeting
wealthy and gorgeously dressed people at her party.
"Not that I'll be at all ashamed of my dress," she added, looking at
the billowy waves on which Cecilia was plastering yet more trimming.
"Unusual and artistic, that's what it is; and it'll show off my hair.
Don't forget the darning when I'm gone, Cecilia. There's a tablecloth to
mend, as well as the stockings. I'll be home on Saturday night, unless
they persuade me to stay over the week-end."
Cecilia nodded, sewing busily.
"And just see if you can't get on a bit better with the children. You've
got to make allowances for their high spirits, and treat them tactfully.
Of course you can't expect them to be as obedient to you as they would
be to a regular governess, you being their own half-sister, and not so
much older than Avice, after all. But tact does wonders, especially with
children."
"Yes," said Cecilia, and said no more.
"Well, just bear it in mind. I don't suppose you'll see much of your
father, so you needn't worry about him. But don't let Eliza gossip and
idle; she never does any work if she's not kept up to it, and you know
you're much too familiar with her. Always keep girls like her at a
distance, and they'll work all the better, that's what I say. Treat her
as an equal, and the next thing you know she'll be trying on your hats!"
"I haven't caught Eliza at that yet," said Cecilia with the ghost of a
smile.
"It'll come, though, if you're not more stand-offish with her--you mark
my words. Keep them in their place--that's what I always do with my
servants and governesses," said Mrs. Rainham without the slightest idea
that she was saying anything peculiar. "Now, I'll go and put my things
out on my bed, and as soon as you've finished that you can come up and
pack for me."
Cecilia stood at the hall door that afternoon to watch her go--bustling
into the cab, with loud directions to the cabman, her hard face full of
self-importance and satisfaction. The plump hand waved a highly scented
handkerchief as the clumsy four-wheeler moved off.
"To think I'll never see you again!" breathed the girl. "It seems too
good to be true!"
A kind of wave of relief seemed to have descended upon the house. The
children were openly exulting in having no one to obey; an attitude
which, in the circumstances, failed to trouble their half-sister. Eliza
went about her work with a cheery face; even Cook, down in the basement,
manifested lightness of heart by singing love songs in a cracked soprano
and by making scones for afternoon tea. Mark Rainham did not come home
until late--he had announced his intention of dining at his club. Late
in the evening he sauntered into the dining-room, where Cecilia sat
sewing.
"Still at it?" he asked. He sat down and poked the fire. "What are you
sewing?"
"Just darning," Cecilia told him.
He sat looking at her for a while--at the pretty face and the
well-tended hair; and who shall say what thoughts stirred in his dull
brain?
"You look a bit pale," he said at last. "Do you go out enough?"
"Oh, yes, I think so," Cecilia answered in astonishment. Not in two
years had he shown so much interest in her; and it braced her to a
sudden resolve. She had never been quite satisfied to leave him without
a word; whatever he was, he was still her father. She put her darning on
her knee, and looked at him gravely.
"You know Bob is demobilized, don't you, Papa?"
"Yes--he told me so," Mark Rainham answered.
"And you know he wants to take me away?"
Her father's eyes wavered and fell before her.
"Oh, yes--but the idea's ridiculous, I'm afraid. You're under age, and
your stepmother won't hear of it." He poked the fire savagely.
"But if Bob could make a home for me! We have always been together, you
know, Papa."
"Oh, well--wait and see. Time enough when you're twenty-one, and your
own mistress; Bob will have had a chance to make good by then. I--I
can't oppose my wife in the matter--she says she's not strong enough to
do without your help."
"But she never seems satisfied with me."
Mark Rainham rose with an irritably nervous movement.
"Oh, no one is ever perfect. I suspect, if each of you went a little
way to meet the other, things would be better. Your stepmother says her
nerves are all wrong, and I'm sure you do take a great deal of trouble
off her shoulders."
"Then you won't let me go?" The girl's low voice was relentless, and
her father wriggled as though he were a beetle and she were pinning him
down.
"I--I'm afraid it's out of the question, Cecilia. I should have to be
very satisfied first that Bob could offer you a home--and by that time
he'll probably be thinking of getting married, and won't want you. Why
can't you settle down comfortably to living at home?"
"There isn't any home for me apart from Bob," said the girl.
"Well, I can't help it." Mark Rainham's voice had a hopeless tone. He
walked to the door, and then half turned. "If you can make my wife agree
to your going, I won't forbid it. Good night."
"Good night," said Cecilia. The slow footsteps went up the stairs, and
she turned to her darning with a lip that curled in scorn.
"Well, that let's me out. I don't owe you anything--not even a good-bye
note on my pincushion," she said presently; and laughed a little. She
folded a finished pair of socks deliberately, and, rising, stretched
her arms luxuriously above her head. "Two more days," she whispered. She
switched off the light, and crept noiselessly upstairs.
CHAPTER VII
THE WATCH DOGS
"Well, if you ask me, she's up to something," said Avice with
conviction.
"How d'you mean?" Wilfred looked up curiously.
"Lots of things. She looks all different. First of all--look how red she
is all the time, and the excited look in her eyes."
"That's all look--look!" jeered her brother. "Girls always have those
rotten ideas about nothing at all. Just because Cecilia's got a bit
sunburnt, and because she's havin' an easy time 'cause Mater's away--"
"Oh, you think because you're a boy, you know everything," retorted his
sister hotly. "You just listen, and see if I've got rotten ideas. Did
you know, she's kept her room locked for days?"
"Well--if she has? That's nothing."
"You shut up and let me go on. Yesterday she forgot, and left it open
while she was down talking to Cook, and I slipped in. And there was
one of her great big trunks, that she always keeps in the box room,
half-packed with her things. I nicked this necklace out of it, too,"
said Avice with triumph, producing a quaint string of Italian beads.
"Good business," said Wilfred with an appreciative grin. "Did she catch
you?"
"Not she--I can tell you I didn't wait long, 'cause she always comes
upstairs as quick as lightning. She did come, too, in an awful hurry,
and locked up the room--I only got out of the way just in time. And
every minute she could, yesterday, she was up there."
"Well, I don't see much in that."
"No, but look here, I got another chance of looking into her room this
morning, and that trunk was gone!"
"Gone back to the box-room," said Wilfred with superiority.
"No, it wasn't--I went up and looked. And her other trunk's not there,
either."
"Oh, you're dreaming! I bet she'd just pushed it under her bed."
"Pooh!" said Avice. "That great big trunk wouldn't go under her bed--you
know she's only got a little stretcher-bed. And I tell you they'd both
gone. I bet you anything she's going to run away."
"Where'd she run to?"
"Oh, somewhere with Bob."
"Well, let her go."
"Yes, and Mater 'd have to spend ever so much on a new governess; and
most likely she'd be a worse beast than Cecilia. And no governess we
ever had did half the things Mater makes Cecilia do to help in the
house. Why she's like an extra servant, as well as a governess. Mater
told me all about it. I tell you what, Wilfred, it's our business to see
she doesn't run away."
"All right," said Wilfred, "I suppose we'd better watch out. When do you
reckon she'd go? People generally run away at night, don't they?"
"Well, anyone can see she's just taking advantage of Mater being away.
Yes, of course she'd go at night. She might have sent her boxes away
yesterday by a carrier--I bet that horrid little Eliza would help her.
Ten to one she means to sneak out to-night--she knows Mater will be home
to-morrow."
"What a sell it will be for her if we catch her!" said Wilfred with
glee. "I say, what about telling Pater?"
Avice looked sour.
"I did tell him something yesterday, and he only growled at me. At
least, I said, 'Do you think Cecilia would ever be likely to run away?'
And he just stared at me, and then he said, 'Not your business if she
does.' So I'm not going to speak to him again."
"Well, we'd better take it in turns to watch her," Wilfred said. "After
dark's the most likely time, I suppose, but we'd better be on the
look-out all the time. Where's she now, by the way?"
"Why, I don't know. I say, she's been away a long time--I never
noticed," said Avice, in sudden alarm. "She said we were to go on with
our French exercises--and that's ages ago."
"Come on and see," said Wilfred jumping up.
Outside the room he caught Avice by the arm.
"Kick off your shoes," he said. "We'll sneak up to her room."
They crept up silently. The door of Cecilia's room was ajar. Peeping in,
they saw her standing before her tiny looking-glass, pinning on her
hat. A small parcel lay upon her bed, with her gloves and parasol. The
children were very silent--but something struck upon the girl's tightly
strung nerves. She turned swiftly and saw them.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. "How dare you come into my room?"
"Why, we thought you were lost," said Avice. "We finished our French
ages ago. Where are you going?"
"I am going out," said Cecilia. "I'll set you more work to do while I'm
away."
"But where are you going?"
"That has nothing to do with you. Come down to the schoolroom."
Avice held her brother firmly by the arm. Together they blocked the way.
"Mater wouldn't let you go out in lesson time. I believe you're going to
run away!"
A red spot flamed in each of Cecilia's white cheeks.
"Stand out of my way, you little horrors!" she said angrily. She caught
up her things and advanced upon them.
"I'm hanged if you're going," said Wilfred doggedly. He pushed her back
violently, and slammed the door.
The attic doors in Lancaster Gate, like those of many London houses,
were fitted with heavy iron bolts on the outside--a precaution against
burglars who might enter the house by rooms ordinarily little used. It
was not the first time that Cecilia had been bolted into her room by her
step-brother. When first she came, it had been a favourite pastime to
make her a prisoner--until their mother had made it an offence carrying
a heavy penalty, since it had often occurred that Cecilia was locked up
when she happened to need her.
But this time Cecilia heard the heavy bolt shoot home with feelings of
despair. It was already time for her to leave the house. Bob would
be waiting for her in Bond Street, impatiently scanning each crowd of
passengers that the lift shot up from underground. She battered at the
door wildly.
"Let me out! How dare you, Wilfred? Let me out at once!"
Wilfred laughed disagreeably.
"Not if we know it--eh, Avice?"
"Rather not," said Avice. "What d'you think Mater'd say to us if we let
you run away?"
"Nonsense!" said Cecilia, controlling her voice with difficulty. "I was
going to meet Bob."
There was silence, and a whispered consultation. Then Avice spoke.
"Will you give us your word of honour you weren't going to run away?"
Words of honour meant little to the young Rainhams. But they knew that
Cecilia held it as a commonplace of decent behaviour that people did not
tell lies. They had, indeed, often marvelled that she preferred to "take
her gruel" rather than use any ready untruth that would have shielded
her from their mother's wrath. Avice and Wilfred had no such scruples on
their own account: but they knew that they could depend upon Cecilia's
word. They were, indeed, just a little afraid of their own action in
locking her up; their mother might have condoned it as "high spirits,"
but their father was not unlikely to take a different view. So they
awaited her reply with some anxiety.
Cecilia hesitated. Never in her life had she been so tempted. Perhaps
because the temptation was so strong she answered swiftly.
"No--I won't tell you anything of the kind. But look here--if you will
let me out I'll give you each ten shillings."
Ten shillings! It was wealth, and the children gasped. Wilfred, indeed,
would have shot back the bolt instantly. It was Avice who caught at his
arm.
"Don't you!" she whispered. "It'll cost heaps more than that to get
a new governess--and we'll make Mater give us each ten shillings for
keeping her. I say, we'll have to get the Pater home."
"How?" Wilfred looked at her blankly.
"Easy. You go to the post office and telephone to him at his office.
Tell him to come at once. I'll watch here, in case Eliza lets her out.
Run--hard as you can. Mater'll never forgive us if she gets away."
Wilfred clattered off obediently, awed by his sister's urgency. Avice
sat down on the head of the stairs, close to the bolted door; and when
Cecilia spoke again, repeating her offer, she answered her in a voice
unpleasantly like her mother's:
"No, you don't, my fine lady. Wilfred's gone for the Pater--he'll be
here presently. You just stay there quietly till he comes."
"Avice!" The word was a wail. "Oh, you don't know how important it
is--let me out. I'll give you anything in the world."
"So'll Mater if I stop your little game," said Avice. "You just keep
quiet."
Eliza's sharp little face appeared at the foot of the flight of stairs.
"Wot's up, Miss Avice? Anyfink wrong with Miss 'Cilia?"
"Nothing to do with you," said Avice rudely. "I'm looking after her."
But Cecilia's sharp ears had caught the new voice.
"Eliza! Eliza!" she called.
The girl came up the stairs uncertainly. Avice rose to confront her.
"Now, you just keep off," she said. "You're not coming past here. The
master'll be home directly, and till he comes, no one's going up
these stairs." She raised her voice, to drown that of Cecilia, who was
speaking again.
Eliza looked at her doubtfully. She was an undersized, wizened little
Cockney, and Avice was a big, stoutly-built girl--who held, moreover,
the advantage of a commanding position on the top step. In an encounter
of strength there was little doubt as to who would win. She turned
in silence, cowed, and went down to the kitchen, while Avice sang a
triumphant song, partly as a chant of victory, and partly to make sure
that no one would hear the remarks that Cecilia was steadily making. She
herself had caught one phrase--"Tell my brother"--and her sharp little
mind was busy. Did that mean that Bob would be coming, against its
mistress's orders, to Lancaster Gate.
In the kitchen Eliza poured out a frantic appeal to Cook.
"She's got Miss 'Cilia locked up--the little red-'eaded cat! An' Master
Wilfred gorn to fetch the Master! Oh, come on, Cookie darlin', an' we'll
let 'er out."
Cook shook her head slowly.
"Not good enough," she said. "I got a pretty good place. I ain't goin'
to risk it by 'avin' a rough-an'-tumble with the daughter of the 'ouse
on the hattic stairs. You better leave well alone, Liza. You done your
bit, 'elpin' 'er git them trunks orf yes'day."
"Wot's the good of 'avin the trunks off if she can't go, too?" demanded
Eliza.
"Oh, she'll git another chance. Don't worry your 'ead so much over other
people's business. If the Master comes 'ome an' finds us scruffin' 'is
daughter, 'e'll 'and us both over to the police for assault--an' then
you'll 'ave cause for worry. Now you git along like a good gel--I got to
mike pastry." Cook turned away decisively.
Wilfred had come home and had raced up the stairs.
"Did you get him?" Avice cried.
"No--he was out. So I left a message that he was to come home at once,
'cause something was wrong."
"That'll bring him," said Avice with satisfaction. "Now, look here,
Wilf--I believe Bob may come. You go and be near the front door, to
block Eliza, if he does. Answer any ring."
"What'll I say if he comes?"
"Say she's gone out to meet him--if he thinks that, he'll hurry back to
wherever they were to meet. Don't give him a chance to get in. Hurry!"
"Right," said Wilfred, obeying. He sat down in a hall chair, and took
up a paper, with an eye wary for Eliza. Half an hour passed tediously,
while upstairs Cecilia begged and bribed in vain. Then he sprang to his
feet as a ring came.
Bob was at the door; and suddenly Wilfred realized that he had always
been afraid of Bob. He quailed inwardly, for never had he seen his
half-brother look as he did now--with a kind of still, terrible anger in
his eyes.
"Where's Cecilia?"
"Gone out," said the boy.
"Where?"
"Gone to meet you."
"Did she tell you so?"
"Yes, of course--how'd I know if she didn't?"
"Then that's a lie, for she wouldn't tell you. Let me in."
"I tell you, she's gone out," said Wilfred, whose only spark of
remaining courage was due to the fact that he had prudently kept the
door on the chain. "And Mater said you weren't to come in here."
From the area below a shrill voice floated upwards.
"Mr. Bob! Mr. Bob! Daon't you believe 'im. They got Miss 'Cilia locked
up in 'er room."
"By Jove!" said Bob between his teeth. "Bless you, Eliza! Open that
door, Wilfred, or I'll make it hot for you." He thrust a foot into the
opening, with a face so threatening that Wilfred shrank back.
"I shan't," he said. "You're not going to get her."
"Am I not?" said Bob. He leaned back, and then suddenly flung all his
weight against the door. The chain was old and the links eaten with
rust--it snapped like a carrot, and the door flew open. Bob brushed
Wilfred out of his way, and went upstairs, three at a time.
Avice blocked his path.
"You aren't coming up."
"Oh, yes, I think so," Bob said. He stooped, with a quick movement,
and picked her up, holding her across his shoulder, while she beat and
clawed unavailingly at his back. So holding her, he thrust back the bolt
of Cecilia's door and flung it open.
"Did you think they had got you, Tommy?"
She could only cling to his free arm for a moment speechless. Then she
lifted her face, her voice shaking, still in fear.
"We must hurry, Bob. They've sent for Papa."
"Have they?" said Bob, with interest. "Well, not a regiment of papas
should stop you now, old girl. Got everything?"
Cecilia gathered up her things, nodding.
"Then we'll leave this young lady here," said Bob. He placed Avice
carefully on Cecilia's bed, and made for the door, having the pleasure,
as he shot the bolt, of hearing precisely what the younger Miss
Rainham thought of him and all his attributes, including his personal
appearance.
"A nice gift of language, hasn't she?" he said. "Inherits it from
her mamma, I should think." He put his arm round Cecilia and held her
closely as they went downstairs, his face full of the joy of battle.
Wilfred was nowhere to be seen, but by the door Eliza waited. Bob
slipped something into her hand.
"I expect you'll lose your place over this, Eliza," he said. "Well,
you'll get a better--I'll tell my lawyer to see to that. He'll write to
you--by the way, what's your surname? Oh, Smithers--I'll remember. And
thank you very much."
They shook hands with her, and passed out into the street. Cecilia was
still too shaken to speak--but as Bob pulled her hand through his arm
and hurried her along, her self-control returned, and the face that
looked up at his presently was absolutely content. Bob returned the look
with a little smile.
"Didn't you know I'd come?" he asked. "You dear old stupid."
"I knew you'd come--but I thought Papa would get there first," Cecilia
answered. "Somehow, it seemed the end of everything."
"It isn't--it's only the beginning," Bob answered.
There was a narrow side street that made a short cut from the tube
station to the Rainhams' home; and as they passed it Mark Rainham came
hurrying up it. Bob and Cecilia did not see him. He looked at them for
a moment, as if reading the meaning of the two happy faces--and then
shrank back into an alley and remained hidden until his son and daughter
had passed out of sight. They went on their way, without dreaming that
the man they dreaded was within a stone's throw of them.
"So it was that," said Mark Rainham slowly, looking after them. "Out of
gaol, are you--poor little prisoner! Well, good luck to you both!" He
turned on his heel, and went back to his office.
CHAPTER VIII
HOW TOMMY BOARDED A STRANGE TAXI
"We're nearly in, Tommy."
Cecilia looked up from her corner with a start, and the book she had
been trying to read slipped to the floor of the carriage.
"I believe you were asleep," said Bob, laughing. "Poor old Tommy, are
you very tired?"
"Oh, nothing, really. Only I was getting a bit sleepy," his sister
answered. "Are we late, Bob?"
"Very, the conductor says. This train generally makes a point of being
late. I wish it had made a struggle to be on time to-night; it would
have been jolly to get to the ship in daylight." Bob was strapping up
rugs briskly as he talked.
"How do we get down to the ship, Bob?"
"Oh, no doubt there'll be taxis," Bob answered. "But it may be no end of
a drive--the conductor tells me there are miles and miles of docks, and
the Nauru may be lying anywhere. But he says there's always a military
official on duty at the station--a transport officer, and he'll be able
to tell me everything." He did not think it worth while to tell the
tired little sister what another man had told him, that it was very
doubtful whether they would be allowed to board any transport at night,
and that Liverpool was so crowded that to find beds in it might be an
impossibility. Bob refused to be depressed by the prospect. "If the
worst came to the worst, there'd be a Y.W.C.A. that would take in
Tommy," he mused. "And it wouldn't be the first time I've spent a night
in the open." Nothing seemed to matter now that they had escaped. But,
all the same, there seemed no point in telling Tommy, who was extremely
cheerful, but also very white-faced.
They drew into an enormous station, where there seemed a dense crowd
of people, but no porters at all. Bob piled their hand luggage on
the platform, and left Cecilia to guard it while he went on a tour of
discovery. He hurried back to her presently.
"Come on," he said, gathering up their possessions. "There's a big
station hotel opening on to the platforms. I can leave you sitting in
the vestibule while I gather up the heavy luggage and find the transport
officer. I'm afraid it's going to take some time, so don't get worried
if I don't turn up very soon. There seem to be about fifty thousand
people struggling round the luggage vans, and I'll have to wait my turn.
But I'll be as quick as I can."
"Don't you worry on my account," Cecilia said. "This is ever so
comfortable. I don't mind how long you're away!" She laughed up at him,
sinking into a big chair in the vestibule of the hotel. There were heavy
glass doors on either side that were constantly swinging to let people
in or out; through them could be seen the hurrying throng of people
on the station, rushing to and fro under the great electric lights,
gathered round the bookstall, struggling along under luggage, or--very
occasionally--moving in the wake of a porter with a barrow heaped with
trunks. There were soldiers everywhere, British and Australian, and
officers in every variety of Allied uniform.