CHAPTER XII
MISS BENEDICT SPEAKS
It was Miss Minerva who decided that Miss Benedict must be told aboutthe coincidence of the two bracelets.
"Certainly, she ought to know!" she declared positively. "There must be_some_ reason why that child has been sent to her, and she ought to betold all the facts concerning her. Who knows but what _she_ may havesome explanation of this bracelet mystery! You tell her the very nexttime you go in. And don't forget to take a jar of that quince marmalade,besides." Aunt Minerva had determined on keeping Cecily well suppliedwith toothsome dainties, which commodities, she keenly suspected, werescarce in the big house. In fact, the girls had told her that themarketing for that establishment, so far as they had seen, seemed toconsist mainly of milk and eggs, rice and prunes!
So a day or two after, when they visited Cecily again, they planned tohave an interview with her guardian. Marcia was shy about broaching thesubject, so the task was left to Janet, who, being anxious to settle thematter immediately, began it as soon as the gate was opened.
"Miss Benedict," she said, "there is something quite strange aboutCecily that we should like to tell you. Could you spare a few moments tohear about it?"
"Why--er--of course!" replied the little black-veiled lady, in a ratherstartled voice. "Will you--er--that is, I will come to her room in alittle while--if you will kindly close the shutters--first!" And shedirected them to proceed upstairs, without this time accompanying them.
Cecily was overjoyed at their appearance. She was sitting by the window,fully dressed, the sunshine streaming in on her, transforming her curlsinto a radiant halo. A definite change had come over her during thelast few days, caused, no doubt, by the enjoyment of light and sunshineand companionship. She was losing some of her former wan, wistful,frightened aspect, and assuming more of the confiding, sunnycharacteristics that were natural to her. At the moment the girlsentered she was reading a magazine brought by them on their previousvisit.
After the first greetings and chat they reported their conversation withMiss Benedict.
"She's coming up soon," ended Marcia, "and we must get the shuttersclosed. But what on earth _for_? Why _can't_ she be like ordinary peopleand enjoy the air and sunshine like the rest of us? Do _you_ know,Cecily?"
"No, I can't imagine. It has all seemed very strange to me ever since Icame. But you know how odd Miss Benedict is. I can't abide asking herany questions, and she never explains anything. The whole house isdarkened like this all the time, and since she let me open my shutters,she's never once been in this room in the daytime. She never goes outwithout that heavy veil, not even into the garden. I don't understandit!"
"Do you know," suggested Marcia, half under her breath, "one wouldalmost think she had done something wrong and was ashamed of showing herface in the daylight. I've heard of such things. And that would explainsome other queer things about this place, too, like--"
"Hush!" warned Janet. "I hear her coming."
In another moment Miss Benedict had opened the door. And in the very dimlight (Marcia had been closing the shutters as they talked) they saw anunusual sight. Miss Benedict had come to them without her bonnet andveil!
The change in her appearance was surprising. Her wonderful white hairwas piled on top of her head in a heavy coronet braid. Her complexionwas singularly soft and youthful, and her lovely gray eyes, even in thedim light, easily seemed her most attractive feature. It was a curiouscontrast made by the removal of the ugly bonnet and veil. In them sheappeared a little, insignificant, unattractive personality. Withoutthem, though short and slight of figure, she possessed a look and manneralmost regal.
She did not refer to the omission of her usual headgear, but took a seatand quietly asked them what they had to tell her.
Janet undertook to explain, and began by telling how Cecily had sent thelittle gift to them, via the string, and ended by explaining about AuntMinerva's duplicate. Miss Benedict listened to it all without comment.When Janet had finished and held out the two bracelets for her toexamine, she merely took them and laid them in her lap, scarcelyglancing at them. They waited, breathless, for her response.
"No," she said, "I know nothing about these bracelets. It is, of course,very singular--a surprising coincidence that your aunt should have oneof them. But I know nothing about them, any more than I know aboutCecily herself." It was the first time she had ever referred to thematter before Cecily, and it was evident that it was not easy for her todo so.
"I might as well speak plainly to you all about this, since the matterhas come up. I did not know little Cecily; I had never heard of her, noranything about her before she came here. I cannot imagine why she wassent. I have no relatives whose child she could have been, nor anyfriend who could have given her into my care."
"Then why," interrupted Janet, "if you will pardon me for asking, MissBenedict,--why did you take her in the day she came?"
Miss Benedict's manner instantly became a trifle confused andembarrassed. "It is--er--a little difficult to explain, I confess," shestammered. "The truth is--I--er--it is commonly reported that we--thatis--I have some means. I have frequently, in the past years, receivedvery strange letters from people utterly unknown to me,--beggingletters, letters proposing to invest my money for me,--oh! I cannotbegin to tell you all the strange things these letters propose. Iunderstand it is a not unusual experience--with well-to-do people. Ihave even received letters proposing that I adopt the writer's childrenand eventually settle my money on them!"
Here Janet and Marcia could not repress a giggle, and Miss Benedictsmiled slightly in sympathy.
"It _does_ sound absurd," she admitted; "but it is quite true, and hasoften been most annoying. So, when the letter arrived announcingCecily's coming, for which there was given no particular explanation, Ithought it simply another case of a similar kind. And I resolved todismiss both the child and her attendant as soon as they appeared.
"But when the day came, strangely enough, I changed my mind. It wasCecily herself led me to do so. I felt as soon as I looked at her that,whoever had sent her here and for whatever purpose, the child herselfwas innocent of any fraud or imposture. She believed that I wouldreceive her, that I _knew_ it was all right. There was something_trusting_ about her eyes, her look, her whole manner. I cannot explainit. And that was not all--there was another reason.
"I suddenly realized how very lonely I was, how desirable it would be tohave with me a young companion--like Cecily. I know that the life I leadis--is different--and peculiar. It is owing to unusual circumstancesthat I cannot explain to you. But I have become so accustomed to thislife that of late years I scarcely realized it _was_ so--different. Butwhen I saw Cecily--I felt suddenly--its loneliness."
With the laying aside of her veil, Miss Benedict seemed also to havelaid aside some of the reticence in which she had shrouded herself. Andher three hearers, listening spellbound, realized how utterly charmingshe could be--if she _allowed_ herself to be so.
"A great desire seized me," she went on, "to take her in and keep herwith me a while. If, later, some one came to claim her, well and good. Iwould let her go. Or if no one came and I found I had beenmistaken,--that she was not companionable,--I could make some otherprovision for her. Meantime, I would yield to this new desire and enjoyher presence--here. In addition to that, the lady in whose company shehad traveled was not in position to keep Cecily longer with her, and thechild would be left without protection. So I took her in. And so I havekept her ever since, because I am daily becoming more--attached to her."
It was a great admission for this reticent little lady, and they allrealized it. So deeply were they impressed that none of them could makeany response. Presently Miss Benedict continued:
"After Cecily had told me her story I determined to write to the villageof Cranby, England, and find out what I could about her mother, Mrs.Marlowe. I knew no one to whom I could address the inquiries, but sentthem on chance to the vicar of the parish church. In due time I receiveda reply. It
stated that Mrs. Marlowe was not a native of that town, butcame there to live about twelve years ago, with her three-year-olddaughter. Nothing was known about her personal affairs except that herhusband and all her people were dead, and that she had come there from adistant part of England because the climate of her former home did notagree with her little daughter. She never talked much about herself, andlived in a very retired, quiet way. She left no property or effects ofany value. Why she should have sent her child to me was as much amystery as ever. About Cecily's father the vicar knew nothing. That isall the information I have."
Miss Benedict stopped abruptly. Cecily opened her lips to say something,then closed them again without having spoken. Marcia fidgeted uneasilyin her chair. Miss Benedict looked down at her lap. An embarrassedsilence seemed to have fallen on them all. Only Janet, knitting herbrows over the puzzle, was unaware of it.
"But, Miss Benedict," she began, "we all think that these bracelets mayhave something to do with Cecily's affairs--might explain a good deal ofthe mystery, if we could only puzzle them out. Have you noticed whatstrange signs there are on them? We think they must be something inChinese. Let me give you a little more light and then you can see thembetter." And Janet, deeply immersed in the subject and still unconsciousof her blunder, was about to go and open a shutter, when Miss Benedictquickly raised her hand.
"Please--er--_please_ do not!" she exclaimed hurriedly.
"Oh! I beg your pardon--I forgot!" cried Janet, in confusion, and thesilence at once became more embarrassed than ever. So much so, in fact,that Miss Benedict evidently felt impelled to explain her conduct. Andshe made the first revelation concerning her singular mode of life.
"I am--er--my eyes are not able to stand it. For years I have sufferedwith some obscure trouble in them. I can _see_, but I cannot stand anybright light. It hurts them beyond endurance. At home I must have therooms darkened in this way. And when I go out, even my heavy veil isnot sufficient. Behind it I must also wear smoked spectacles."
She said no more, but she did not need to. A little inarticulate murmurof sympathy rose from her listeners. And in the twilight of the roomMarcia glanced quickly and guiltily into Janet's contrite face.