A Very Naughty Girl

  CHAPTER XXIV.--"WHO IS E. W.?"

  The one person who might have helped Evelyn was too busy with her owntroubles just then to think a great deal about her. Poor Sylvia wasvisited with a very great dread. Her father's manner was strange; shebegan to fear that he suspected Jasper's presence in the house. IfJasper left, Sylvia felt that things must come to a crisis; she couldnot stand the life she had lived before the comfortable advent of thiskindly but ill-informed woman. Sylvia was really very much attached toJasper, and although she argued much over Evelyn, and disagreed stronglywith her with regard to the best way to treat this unruly little memberof society, Sylvia's very life depended on Jasper's purse and Jasper'stact.

  One by one the fowls disappeared, the same boy receiving them over thehedge day by day from Jasper. The boy sold each of the old hens forsixpence, and reaped quite a harvest in consequence. He was all toowilling to keep Jasper's secret. Jasper bought tender young cockerelsfrom a neighbor in the village, conveyed them home under her arm, killedthem, and dressed them in various and dainty manners for Mr. Leeson'smeals. He was loud in his praise of Sylvia, and told her that if theworst came to the worst she could go out as a lady cook.

  "Nothing could give me such horror, my dear child," he said, "as tothink that a Leeson, and a member of one of the proudest families in thekingdom, should ever demean herself to earn money; but, my dear girl, inthese days of chance and change one must be prepared for the worst--therenever is any telling. Sylvia, I go through anxious moments--very, veryanxious moments."

  "You do, father," answered the girl. "You watch the post too much. Icannot imagine," she continued, "why you are so fretted and somiserable, for surely we must spend very, very little indeed."

  "We spend more than we ought, Sylvia--far more. But there, dear, I am notcomplaining; I suppose a young girl must have dainties and fine dress."

  "Fine dress!" said Sylvia. She looked down at her shabby garment andcolored painfully.

  Mr. Leeson faced her with his bright and sunken dark eyes.

  "Come here," he said.

  She went up to him, trembling and her head hanging.

  "I saw you two days ago; it was Sunday, and you went to church. I wasstanding in the shrubbery. I was lost--yes, lost--in painful thoughts.Those recipes which I was about to give to the world were occupying mymind, and other things as well. You rushed by in your shabby dress; youwent into the house by the back entrance. Sylvia dear, I sometimes thinkit would be wise to lock that door. With you and me alone in the houseit might be safest to have only one mode of ingress."

  "But I always lock it when I go out," said Sylvia; "and it saves so muchtime to be able to use the back entrance."

  "It is just like you, Sylvia; you argue about every thing I say.However, to proceed. You went in; I wondered at your speed. You came outagain in a quarter of an hour transformed. Where did you get thatdress?"

  "What dress, father?"

  "Do not prevaricate. Look me straight in the face and tell me. You weredressed in brown of rich shade and good material. You had a stylish andfanciful and hideous hat upon your head; it had feathers. My very breathwas arrested when I saw the merry-andrew you made of yourself. You hadfurs, too--doubtless imitations, but still, to all appearance, richfurs--round neck and wrist. Sylvia, have you during these months andyears been secretly saving money?"

  "No, father."

  "You say 'No, father,' in a very strange tone. If you had no money tobuy the dress, how did you get it?"

  "It was--given to me."

  "By whom?"

  "I would rather not say."

  "But you must say."

  Here Mr. Leeson took Sylvia by both her wrists; he held them tightly inhis bony hands. He was seated, and he pulled her down towards him.

  "Tell me at once. I insist upon knowing."

  "I cannot--there! I will not."

  "You defy me?"

  "If that is defying you, father, yes. The dress was given to me."

  "You refuse to say by whom?"

  "Yes, father."

  "Then leave my presence. I am angry, hurt. Sylvia, you must return it."

  "Again, no, father."

  "Sylvia, have you ever heard of the Fifth Commandment?"

  "I have, father; but I will break it rather than return the dress. Ihave been a good daughter to you, but there are limits. You have noright to interfere. The dress was given to me; I did not steal it."

  "Now you are intolerable. I will not be agitated by you; I have enoughto bear. Leave me this minute."

  Sylvia left the room. She did not go to Jasper; she felt that she couldnot expose her father in the eyes of this woman. She ran up to her ownbedroom, locked the door, and flung herself on her bed. Of late she hadnot done this quite so often. Circumstances had been happier for her oflate: her father had been strange, but at the same time affectionate;she had been fed, too, and warmed; and, oh! the pretty dress--the prettydress--she had liked it. She was determined that she would not give itup; she would not submit to what she deemed tyranny. She wept for alittle; then she got up, dried her tears, put on her cloak (sadly thinfrom wear), and went out. Pilot came, looked into her face, and beggedfor her company. She shook her head.

  "No, darling; stay at home--guard him," she whispered.

  Pilot understood, and turned away. Sylvia found herself on thehigh-road. As she approached the gate, and as she spoke to Pilot, eagereyes watched her over the wire screen which protected the lower part ofMr. Leeson's sitting-room.

  "What can all this mean?" he said to himself. "There is a mystery aboutSylvia. Sometimes I feel that there is a mystery about this house.Sylvia used to be a shocking cook; now the most dainty chef who has evercondescended to cook meals for my pampered palate can scarcely excelher. She confessed that she did not get the recipe from the gipsy; thegipsies had left the common, so she could not get what I gave her ashilling to obtain. Or, did I give her the shilling? I think not--I hopenot. Oh, good gracious! if I did, and she lost it! I did not; I musthave it here."

  He fumbled anxiously in his waistcoat pocket.

  "Yes, yes," he said, with a sigh of relief. "I put it here for her, butshe did not need it. Thank goodness, it is safe!"

  He looked at it affectionately, replaced it in its harbor of refuge, andthought on.

  "Now, who gave her those rich and extravagant clothes? Can she possiblyhave been ransacking her mother's trunks? I was under the impressionthat I had sold all my poor wife's things, but it is possible I may haveoverlooked something. I will go and have a look now in the attics. I hadher trunks conveyed there. I will go and have a look."

  When Mr. Leeson was engaged in what he was pleased to call a voyage ofdiscovery, he, as a rule, stepped on tiptoe. As he wore, for purposes ofeconomy, felt slippers when in the house, his steps made no noise. Now,it so happened that when Jasper arrived at The Priory she brought notonly her own luggage, which was pretty considerable, but two or threeboxes of Evelyn's finery. These trunks having filled up Jasper's bedroomand the kitchens to an unnecessary extent, she and Sylvia had contrivedto drag them up to the attics in a distant part of the house without Mr.Leeson hearing. The trunks, therefore, mostly empty, which had containedthe late Mrs. Leeson's wardrobe and Evelyn's trunks were now alltogether, in what was known as the back attic--that attic which stood,with Sylvia's room between, exactly over the kitchen.

  Mr. Leeson knew, as he imagined, every corner of the house. He was wellaware of the room where his wife's trunks were kept, and he went therenow, determined, as he expressed it, to ferret out the mystery which wasunsettling his life.

  He reached the attic in question, and stared about him. There were thetrunks which he remembered so well. Many marks of travel were onthem--names of foreign hotels, names of distant places. Here was a trophyof a good time at Florence; here a remembrance of a delightful fortnightat Rome; here, again, of a week in Cairo; here, yet more, of anever-to-be-forgotten visit to Constantinople. He stared at thehall-marks of his past life as he gazed at his wife's
trunks, and for atime memory overpowered the lonely man, and he stood with his handsclasped and his head slightly bent, thinking--thinking of the days thatwere no more. No remorse, it is true, seized his conscience. He did notrecognize how, step by step, the demon of his life had gained more andmore power over him; how the trunks became too shabby for use, but thedesire for money prevented his buying new ones. Those labels were old,and the places he and his wife had visited were much changed, and thehotels where they had stayed had many of them ceased to exist, but thelabels put on by the hall porters remained on the trunks and borewitness against Mr. Leeson. He turned quickly from the sight.

  "This brings back old times," he said to himself, "and old times createold feelings. I never knew then that she would be cursed by the demon ofextravagance, and that her child--her only child--would inherit herfailing. Well, it is my bounden duty to nip it in the bud, or Sylviawill end her days in the workhouse. I thought I had sold most of theclothes, but doubtless she found some materials to make up thatunsuitable costume."

  He dragged the trunks forward. They were unlocked, being supposed tocontain nothing of value. He pulled them open and went on his knees toexamine them. Most of them were empty; some contained old bundles ofletters; there was one in the corner which still had a couple of muslindresses and an old-fashioned black lace mantilla. Mr. Leeson rememberedthe mantilla and the day when he bought it, and how pretty his handsomewife had looked in it. He flung it from him now as if it distressed him.

  "Faugh!" he said. "I remember I gave ten guineas for it. Think of anyman being such a fool!"

  He was about to leave the attic, more mystified than ever, when his eyessuddenly fell upon the two trunks which contained that portion of EvelynWynford's wardrobe which Lady Frances had discarded. The trunks werecomparatively new. They were handsome and good, being made of crushedcane. They bore the initials E. W. in large white letters on theirarched roofs.

  "But who in the name of fortune is E. W.?" thought Mr. Leeson; and nowhis heart beat in ungovernable excitement. "E. W.! What can thoseinitials stand for?"

  He came close to the trunks as though they fascinated him. They wereunlocked, and he pulled them open. Soon Evelyn's gay and uselesswardrobe was lying helter-skelter on the attic floor--silk dresses,evening dresses, morning dresses, afternoon dresses, furs, hats, cloaks,costumes. He kicked them about in his rage; his anger reachedwhite-heat. What was the meaning of this?

  E. W. and E. W.'s clothes took such an effect on his brain that he couldscarcely speak or think. He left the attic with all the things scatteredabout, and stumbled rather than walked down-stairs. He had nearly got tohis own part of the house when he remembered something. He went back,turned the key in the attic door, and put it in his pocket. He thenbreathed a sigh of relief, and went back to his sitting-room. The firewas nearly out; the day was colder than ever--a keen north wind wasblowing. It came in at the badly fitting windows and shook the old panesof glass. The attic in which Mr. Leeson had stood so long had also beenicy-cold. He shivered and crept close to the remains of the fire. Then athought came to him, and he deliberately took up the poker and poked outthe remaining embers. They flamed up feebly on the hearth and died out.

  "No more fires for me," he said to himself; "I cannot afford it. She isruining--ruining me. Who is E. W.? Where did she get all those clothes?Oh, I shall go mad!"

  He stood shivering and frowning and muttering. Then a change came overhim.

  "There is a secret, and I mean to discover it," he said to himself; "anduntil I do I shall say nothing. I shall find out who E. W. is, wherethose trunks came from, what money Sylvia stole to purchase those awfuland ridiculous and terrible garments. I shall find out before I act.Sylvia thinks that she can make a fool of her old father; she willdiscover her mistake."

  The postman's ring was heard at the gate. The postman was never allowedto go up the avenue. Mr. Leeson kept a box locked in the gate, with alittle slit for the postman to drop in the letters. He allowed no one toopen this box but himself. Without even putting on his greatcoat, hewent down the snowy path now, unlocked the box, and took out a letter.He returned with it to the house; it was addressed to himself, and wasfrom his broker in London. The letter contained news which affected himpretty considerably. The gold mine in which he had invested nearly thewhole of his available capital was discovered to be by no means so richin ore as was at first anticipated. Prices were going down steadily, andthe shares which Mr. Leeson had bought were now worth only half theirvalue.

  "I'll sell out--I'll sell out this minute," thought the wretched man; "ifI don't I shall lose all."

  But then he paused, for there was a postscript to the letter.

  "It would be madness to sell now," wrote the broker. "Doubtless thepresent scare is a passing one; the moment the shares are likely to goup then sell."

  Mr. Leeson flung the letter from him and tore his gray hair. He paced upand down the room.

  "Disaster after disaster," he murmured. "I am like Job; all these thingsare against me. But nothing cuts me like Sylvia. To buy those things--twotrunks full of useless finery! Oh yes, I have money on thepremises--money which I saved and never invested; I wonder if that issafe. For all I can tell----But, oh, no, no, no! I will not think that.That way madness lies. I will bury the canvas bag to-night; I havedelayed too long. No one can discover that hiding-place. I will bury thecanvas bag, come what may, to-night."

  Mr. Leeson wrote to his broker, telling him to seize the firstpropitious moment to sell out from the gold-mine, and then sat moodily,getting colder and colder, in front of the empty grate.

  Sylvia came in presently.

  "Dinner is ready, father," she said.

  "I don't want dinner," he muttered.

  She went up to him and laid her hand on his arm.

  "Why are you like ice?" she said.

  He pushed her away.

  "The fire is out," she continued; "let me light it."

  "No!" he thundered. "Leave it alone; I wish for no fire. I tell you I ama beggar, and worse; and I wish for no fire!"

  "Oh father--father darling!" said the girl.

  "Don't 'darling' me; don't come near me. I am displeased with you. Youhave cut me to the quick. I am angry with you. Leave me."

  "You may be angry," she answered, "but I will not leave you ; and if youare cold--cold to death--and cannot afford a fire, you will warm yourselfwith me. Let me put my arms round you; let me lay my cheek againstyours. Feel how my cheek glows. There, is not that better?"

  He struggled, but she insisted. She sat on his knee now and put thecloak she was wearing, thin and poor enough in itself, round his neck.Inside the cloak she circled him with her arms. Her dark luxuriant hairfell against his white and scanty locks; she pressed her face close tohis.

  "You may hate me, but I am going to stay with you," she said. "How coldyou are!"

  Just for a minute or two Mr. Leeson bore the loving caress and theendearing words. She was very sweet, and she was his--his only child--boneof his bone. Yes, it was nicer to be warm than cold, nicer to be lovedthan to be hated, nicer to----But was he loved? Those trunks up-stairs;that costly, useless finery; those initials which were not Sylvia's!

  "Oh that I could tell her!" he said to himself. "She pretends; she isuntrue--untrue as our first mother. What woman was ever yet to betrusted?"

  "Go, Sylvia," he replied vehemently; and he started up and shook her offcruelly, so that she fell and hurt herself.

  She rose, pushed her hair back from her forehead and gazed at him inbewilderment. Was he going mad?

  "Come and eat your dinner before it gets cold," she said. "It isextravagant to waste good food; come and eat it."

  "Made from some of those old fowls?" he queried; and a scornful smilecurled his lips.

  "Come and eat it; it costs you practically nothing," she added. "Come,it is extravagant to waste it."

  He pondered in his own mind; there were still about three fowls left. Hewould not take her hand but he followed her into the dinin
g-room. He satdown before the dainty dish, helped her to a small portion, and ate therest.

  "Now you are better," she said cheerfully.

  He gave her a glance which seemed to her to be one of almost venom.

  "I am going into my sitting-room," he said; "do not disturb me againto-day."

  "But you must have a fire!"

  "I decline to have a fire."

  "You will die of cold."

  "Much you care."

  "Father!"

  "Yes, Sylvia, much you care; you are like the one who gave you being. Iwill not say any more."

  She started away at this; he knew she would. She was patient with himalmost beyond the limits of human patience, but she could not standhaving her mother abused.

  He went down the passage, and locked himself in his sitting-room.

  "Now I can think," he thought; "and to-night when Sylvia is in bed Iwill bury the last canvas bag."

  When Sylvia went into the kitchen Jasper asked her at once what was thematter. She stood for a moment without speaking; then she said in a low,broken-hearted voice:

  "Father sometimes gets these moods, but I never saw him as bad before.He refuses to have a fire in the parlor; he will die of this cold."

  "Let him," muttered Jasper under her breath. She did not say these wordsaloud; she knew Sylvia too well by this time.

  "What has put him into this state of mind?" she asked as she dished up ahot dinner for Sylvia and herself.

  "It was my dress, Jasper; I ought not to have allowed you to make it forme. I ran in to put it on to go to church on Sunday; and he saw me anddrew his own conclusions, as he said. He asked me where I got it, and Irefused to tell him."

  "Now, if I were you, dear," said Jasper, "I would just up and tell himthe whole story. I would tell him that I am here, and that I mean tostay, and that he has been living on me for some time now. I would tellhim everything. He would rage and fume, but not more than he has ragedand fumed. Things are past bearing, darling. Why, your pretty, young,and brave heart will be broken. I would not bear it. It is best for himtoo, dear; he must learn to know you, and if necessary to fear you. Hecannot go on killing himself and every one else with impunity. It ispast bearing, Sylvia, my love--past bearing."

  "I know, Jasper--I know--but I dare not tell him. You cannot imagine whathe is when he is really roused. He would turn you out."

  "Well, darling, and you would come with me. Why should we not go out?"

  "In the first place, Jasper, you have no money to support us both. Why,poor, dear old thing, you are using up all your little savings to keepme going! And in the next place, even if you could afford it, I promisedmother that I would never leave him. I could not break my word to her.Oh! it hurt much; but the pain is over. I will never leave him while helives, Jasper."

  "Dear, dear!" said Jasper, "what a power of love is wasted on worthlesspeople! It is the most extraordinary fact on earth."

  Sylvia half-smiled. She thought of Evelyn, who was also in her opinionmore or less worthless, and how Jasper was wasting both substance andheart on her.

  "Well," she said, "I can eat if I can do nothing else ; but the thoughtof father dying of cold does come between me and all peace."

  She finished her dinner, and then went and stood by the window.

  "It is a perfect miracle he has not found me out before," said Jasper;"and, by the same token," she added, "I heard footsteps in the atticup-stairs while I was preparing his fowl for dinner. My heart stoodstill. It must have been he; and I thought he would see the smokecurling up through that stack of chimneys just alongside of the attics.What was he doing up stairs?"

  "Oh, I know--I know!" said Sylvia; and her face turned very white, andher eyes seemed to start from her head. "He went to look in mother'strunks; he thought that I had got my brown dress from there."

  "And he will discover Evelyn's trunks as sure as fate," said Jasper;"and what a state he will be in! That accounts for it, Sylvia. Well,darling, discovery is imminent now; and for my part the sooner it isover the better."

  "I wonder if he did discover! Something has put him into a terriblerage," thought the girl.

  She went out of the kitchen, and stole softly up-stairs to the atticwhere the trunks were kept. It was locked. Doubt was now, of course, atan end. Sylvia went back and told her discovery to Jasper.