In spite of Emmeline’s relief that the blanket affair had passed off without their secret being discovered, the rest of the afternoon was thoroughly spoilt for both her and Kitty.
Kitty left off crying presently and stole upstairs to take the now empty tooth-glass out of its hiding-place in her dress-pocket underneath her overall; after which she went on to Micky’s room in the hope of being able to bear him company. Jane had locked the door however, and carried off the key, so that Kitty had to creep downstairs again, feeling very much grieved and disappointed.
‘It does seem hard poor Micky should have all the punishment when we were just as much in it really,’ Kitty remarked sadly to Emmeline.
‘Well, but we weren’t quite,’ said Emmeline, ‘putting the blankets in the kennel was quite his own idea, you know.’ But, in spite of this, she was too fair-minded a child not to feel uncomfortable at the injustice as well as very sorry for poor[152] Micky. But what troubled her most was the fact that the blankets would no longer be available. Diamond Jubilee would be so cold without them, and, besides, how should she persuade him to sleep at the Feudal Castle now that they could not be held out as an inducement? She had been worrying over the problem for a good while when it suddenly struck her that she had read somewhere that newspapers made almost as warm a bed-covering as blankets. How would it be to take some out to the Feudal Castle? She knew just where the old Standards were kept.
Unhappily it was nearly tea-time when Emmeline had this brilliant inspiration, and just as she was getting up to carry it into effect, Jane came across the lawn to where the two girls were sitting with the glum announcement that it was time to come in and get tidy.
‘Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage!’
sang Micky’s voice, very loud and very much out of tune.
They all looked up, startled, and saw him leaning out of his window, clad in his flannel pyjamas, and grinning defiantly.
‘Master Micky, if you don’t get back to bed this instant, you shan’t have any tea at all, not even dry bread,’ said Jane, and Micky beat a[153] hasty retreat. Troubles never took away his appetite, and he knew from past experience that Jane’s threats were not empty ones.
It was soon Kitty’s turn to get into trouble. Never was there such a day of scrapes.
They were in the middle of tea when Jane stalked grimly in, carrying an article, the sight of which nearly made Emmeline drop her cup with fright. It was the hot-water can with Kitty’s sash attached to its spout and handle. All the agitations of the day had driven the thought of it out of their heads, and it had lain forgotten under its laurel-bush until five minutes ago, when Mr. Brown had unfortunately caught a glimpse of the blue sash and dragged it to light.
‘What’s the meaning of this, Miss Kitty?’ demanded Jane, in a voice of awful calm.
Kitty had nothing like Micky’s coolness. She turned crimson, hung her head, and muttered something about a lift, which made Emmeline feel terribly alarmed as to what she might be going to let out.
‘A lift!’ sniffed Jane, pouncing on the poor word, ‘and what have you been lifting with your best party sash, I’d like to know? Leaving it out in the rain, too, till the colour’s all run, and it’s only fit for the rag-bag!’
‘It was—some things I wanted to let down to Micky in the garden,’ stammered Kitty, looking[154] as though she very much hoped the floor would open and swallow her up.
‘Umph!’ grunted Jane. ‘Toys, I suppose, that he was too lazy to go up and fetch for himself, so he made you save him the trouble, same as he did the other day. I know his ways!’ (As a matter of fact, Micky was anything but lazy; and, though it was quite true that Jane had caught Kitty fagging for him the other day, that was only because he had happened to be a cruel slave-owner for the afternoon.) ‘That was it, wasn’t it?’
Kitty blushed a yet deeper crimson, and hung her head a little lower.
‘I thought so!’ said Jane. ‘Well, you can come to bed, too, and then perhaps you’ll know better another time. Come along,’ and, seizing Kitty’s hand, she marched off with her, muttering something about never having known such goings on in all her born days.
Emmeline could hear Kitty bursting into a howl as she was led upstairs, and she herself felt so unhappy that she could hardly find it in her heart even to be relieved that Jane had not been more pressing in her questions. It was not only that she was sorry for Kitty, but it seemed so mean to let the twins be punished without coming forward to take her share of the blame; and yet, of course, it would be impossible to do so without betraying[155] the secret and ruining everything. ‘And that I mustn’t do, for Diamond Jubilee’s sake,’ she told herself; ‘but, oh dear, I never guessed, when I first started the idea of adopting him, that it would lead to all this worry!’
She was not long in finishing her now solitary meal, for a restless desire had seized her to be up and doing. She was just going to the cupboard where the old Standards were kept, when a sudden thought made her pause. Aunt Grace had once told the children that they were on their honour to begin their lessons for the next day as soon as tea was over, and that she trusted them to do so, whether or not she was there to see.
‘I suppose I must wait, then,’ she said to herself, with an impatient sigh, as she turned away and went slowly up to the schoolroom. It was very tiresome, when she did so want to go and settle Diamond Jubilee in for the night at the Feudal Castle.
Her lessons took her longer than usual that evening, for she found it very hard to give her full attention to them; but she had almost finished when she was startled by Jane’s coming in with the supper-tray.
‘Why, it can’t be eight o’clock yet!’ she exclaimed.
‘No, Miss Emmeline, it’s only just past seven; but Cook and I are going to church, and choir-practice[156] afterwards, and we shan’t be in till past nine, so I thought I’d better bring you your supper now.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Emmeline, in the voice in which people close a subject, but rather to her annoyance, Jane still lingered.
‘Miss Emmeline,’ she began, with evident hesitation, ‘there’s something I think it right to warn you about.’
‘What is it?’ asked Emmeline nervously. She felt a sudden dread that the warning might have something to do with Diamond Jubilee.
‘Well, it’s about Alice,’ said Jane. (Emmeline breathed freely again.) ‘I hardly like to speak of it, but I feel it’s my duty. You know Tuesday’s the day she always turns out your room. Well, when I went in there to put Miss Kitty to bed, I noticed the box which you keep the money in for the Poor Children’s Home had fallen off your chest of drawers and was lying on the floor. Well, I picked it up’—she paused, and went on impressively—‘and I found it was quite empty!’
‘Was it?’ said Emmeline, uneasily. ‘But I don’t see what Alice has to do with it.’
‘And you wouldn’t see,’ said Jane, in the tone habitual to grieved charity, ‘not unless you knew Alice’s history. She was turned away from her first place for taking some money that had been[157] left loose in a drawer, and Miss Bolton only took her to give her a chance of making a fresh start. She’s been here six weeks now, and nothing’s been missed, so we did hope she was going to do better, but I’m afraid now she is falling back into her old ways, and that we shall have to part with her. But don’t you say anything about this to anybody, please, Miss Emmeline. I only told you as a warning to be careful what you leave about, and because I knew you’d wonder about the box being empty.’
Never in her life had Emmeline felt so miserably uncomfortable. She was a naturally honourable child, and at the bottom of her heart she knew that she ought to confess to having taken the money herself, and not let Alice rest under unjust suspicion a moment longer. But then Jane would ask horrid prying questions and everything would come out. After all, she told herself, she was really not bound to confide in Jane; it was no business of Jane’s what she did with her money.
‘I don’t think it’s at all charitable of you to make out that poor Alice is a thief, when you can’t possibly know anything about it!’ she exclaimed hotly—she did feel very angry with Jane for having put her into such a horrid position—‘and, anyhow, you can’t send her away, only Aunt Grace can do that, and I’m sure she[158] won’t without a much better reason for thinking Alice took the money.’
Jane was greatly offended and astonished.
‘I hope I know my place, Miss Emmeline,’ she remarked huffily, ‘I should never think of giving Alice notice myself, but I’ve no doubt that Miss Bolton will when I’ve told her my suspicions, which I shall feel it my bounden duty to do.’
‘But Jane,’ said Emmeline, almost crying, ‘do try to have a little charity. You know how much the Bible says about charity!’
‘Miss Emmeline,’ said Jane, in her most dignified manner, ‘I don’t think I need any little girl to teach me about the Bible, which I’ve been through seven times already, and have got as far through the eighth time as the seventh of Numbers; but I know my duty, and my duty is to see that there are only honest servants in this house; and I think I’m a better judge of who are honest than any little girl!’ And with this parting shot she stalked away, slamming the door behind her.
‘Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?’ said Emmeline, half aloud, as s............