Part 28 (1/2)
”Of course you can't,” Cicely said impatiently. ”I should as soon believe I was a thief myself, as believe Christina to be one. Don't imagine I doubt her. I never doubted her for a moment. Only--I wish she hadn't gone away; and I wish I knew where she had gone.”
Rupert's face grew grave.
”Has she any friends or relations to whom she would be likely to go?”
”I am afraid not. You know she was rather a waif and stray, when I first engaged her as Baba's nurse. You were doubtful then about my wisdom in taking her with practically no references. But she has been invaluable with Baba; and I have learnt to care for her, too. She is such a dear soul!”
”A restful soul,” Rupert said dreamily; and, as Cicely stared at him in surprise, a little look of embarra.s.sment crossed his face. ”I saw her at Graystone, when I went to call upon Baba,” he said, trying to speak lightly, because of the surprise in Cicely's glance; ”she seemed to be just the sort of restful, cheery nurse you would want for a child.”
”Yes,” Cicely answered, wondering why Rupert's first dreamy words ”a restful soul,” seemed to have no connection with the latter part of his sentence.
”She suits Baba admirably. The poor baby is utterly woebegone without her. Baba calls Christina her pretty lady; and she has been crying her small heart out over her loss.”
”Miss Moore went away on Christmas night, you say?”
”Yes; two nights ago. She took nothing with her in the way of luggage.
She must have walked to the station. She went to Hansley. We have discovered that much, and she sat all night in the waiting-room, because there was no train till the early morning.”
”Then you know to what place she booked?” Rupert questioned.
”She booked to Torne Junction; beyond there we cannot trace her.
Cousin Arthur ramped all yesterday, and talked a great deal of bombastic nonsense. To-day, to my great relief, he and Cousin Ellen departed. But he still threatens the police. I am only hoping he may let the police question lapse for a day or two; he is very busy hunting down a derelict brother-in-law.”
”My dear Cicely, what do you mean--a derelict brother-in-law?”
”I know nothing about the poor thing,” Cicely spread out her hands, and laughed. ”Cousin Arthur takes it for granted that I have his family history at my finger ends, and I can't remember that John ever told me whether Cousin Arthur ever had a brother-in-law. But the dear old man throws out mysterious hints about the derelict, who has evidently done something terrible, and he sighs and groans over his poor sister, the derelict's wife, but I don't know what has happened to either the sister or her husband. Meanwhile----”
”Meanwhile, we have no right to let a young girl like Miss Moore lose herself or get into difficulties, if we can possibly prevent it,”
Rupert said. ”Her running away was an undoubted blunder, but it is our business to find her, and try to set things straight. The difficulty is to know where to begin to look for her. Scotland Yard suggests itself as the place to which in common sense one should apply for help.”
”I don't want publicity and fuss if it can be avoided,” Cicely said doubtfully. ”Cousin Arthur's rigid sense of justice, makes him declare with unwavering obstinacy that it is a case for the police, the whole police, and nothing but the police. But being an ordinary silly, fluffy, little woman, I have the ordinary woman's horror of the law.”
”You are so entirely typical of the silly, fluffy woman,” Rupert said drily, but looking at his cousin with affectionate, laughing eyes.
”However, without bringing the majesty of the law to bear upon the theft, or rather supposed theft--for I don't myself believe in it--there is no reason why Scotland Yard should not help us to find Miss Moore. Perhaps I can induce Sir Arthur to hold his hand for the present about the accusation against her. He must be amenable to----”
The sentence was broken off short, as the door opened, and a footman entered and handed a telegram to his mistress.
”For Cousin Arthur,” she said, glancing from the orange-coloured envelope to Rupert. ”I wonder whether I had better just open it, or have it re-telegraphed straight on to him?”
”Open it, I should think,” Rupert answered carelessly; ”it may be some trivial matter which you can answer,” and acting upon his words, Cicely drew out the pink paper from its orange cover, and read the lines written upon it; read them slowly, and with a puzzled frown, that changed suddenly to an expression of delight.
”What an extraordinary coincidence. You need not wait, James. I will send the answer down to the telegraph boy in a few minutes. Look at this, Rupert,” she went on, as the footman left the room. ”Isn't it extraordinary that this telegram should have come in the very middle of our conversation?”
Rupert took the flimsy paper from her hand, and as he read the words, his cousin saw an extraordinary change flash over his face--a dusky colour mounted to his forehead, a strange brightness leapt to his eyes; and, having read the words to himself, he read them aloud--
”Come here at once. Wire to post office, Graystone; and any train shall be met. Christina Moore with me. Have made important discovery.--MARGARET STANFORTH.”
”At last,” he murmured under his breath, as with curious deliberation he folded up the telegram, and handed it back to Cicely. ”At last I have found her.”