Chapter XVI: Gilbert's Suspicions

THE first few weeks of the summer term passed swiftly and happily for Angel; she became a favourite with governesses and pupils, but still Dinah and Dora Mickle were her chief friends, and she generally spent Saturday afternoons in their company, taking long walks and coming home laden with flowers and ferns.

How beautiful were the shady lanes around Wreyford in those early summer days, when the foliage still retained the freshness of spring. The green corn in the fields was growing apace, honeysuckle and wild roses were bursting into bloom, and the grass in the meadows waved in the breeze, almost ready to be mowed.

Gilbert Mickle was making good progress with his drawing. He looked forward to the afternoons spent in the artist's company as the happiest in the week, and felt sincerely grateful to his father for allowing him to receive the lessons which he so greatly valued. As a rule, only Mr. Willis and Gilbert were in the studio on Saturday afternoons; but if it happened to be wet, sometimes Angel would venture to join them, and sit by the window as quiet as a mouse with her book or work, never uttering a word unless she was spoken to. Mr. Willis and Gilbert often conversed as they worked. Their talk was frequently beyond Angel's understanding, for they would discuss subjects about which the little girl was ignorant; on such occasions Gilbert's face would brighten, and his tongue become fluent, his mantle of reserve would drop from him, and he would appear at his best. He was growing much attached to Mr. Willis, attracted by his genial disposition and his never-failing tact.

One afternoon he was returning from Haresdown House when he encountered Angel at the foot of the hill, and stopped to inquire if she had been with his sisters.

"No," she replied; "they told me they were going shopping with your mother. I've been to deliver a note for Uncle Edward in the town. He asked Gerald to take it; but Gerald wanted to play cricket, and so—"

"But Gerald is not playing cricket," he broke in; "at least, I think not."

"Oh yes," Angel assured him. "He told me he was going to practise bowling at the nets."

Gilbert looked incredulous, for he had his own reasons for doubting this statement, as on his way to Haresdown House that afternoon he had caught sight of Gerald and Reginald Hope, with their fishing rods, walking in the opposite direction to the field where the Grammar School boys played cricket. He had imagined they were bound for the clay pits to fish, as they were going that way.

"What makes you think Gerald is not playing cricket?" Angel asked, a trifle anxiously, after a brief pause, adding, "He wouldn't tell me a story about it. He would have taken Uncle Edward's note himself if he hadn't wanted to play cricket."

"I—I suppose so."

"You suppose so? You don't think he'd tell me a story, do you?"

Gilbert made no answer. Angel looked puzzled and a little hurt.

"Well, good-bye," she said stiffly, casting a reproachful glance at him; "I mustn't stay talking any longer, for it's nearly teatime."

"Good-bye," he answered, and stood leaning on his crutches, gazing after her as she commenced to climb the hill, wondering what could have induced her brother to tell her a deliberate untruth, for that Gerald had done so he was certain in his own mind. He turned towards Wreyford, and, after crossing the bridge, was very soon in the main street. Within sight of his own home he met Gerald Willis himself, and stopped him.

"Hulloa, Willis!" he cried. "What sport, then?"

"What do you mean?" Gerald asked, growing crimson. "I don't understand you."

"Oh, yes, you do! I saw you with you and Hope with your fishing rods, and I perceive from the white clay on your boots where you have been. You've been fishing in the clay pits, haven't you?"

"Y—es," Gerald answered hesitatingly. "Hope has a new aquarium, and he asked me to go with him and catch some fish to put in it—those in the clay pits are just the size and sort he wants. We didn't have much sport this afternoon, though; we shall have to go again."

"What have you done with your rod?" Gilbert questioned curiously.

"Oh, I left it at Hope's house."

"Because you didn't want your sister to see you return with it, I suppose," the other remarked with a slight sneer. "What made you tell her a lie, and say you were going to play cricket?"

"Oh, I say, I wish you'd mind your own business," Gerald cried hotly. "Why need you interfere? It's nothing to do with you. You've no right to say I told a lie."

"But you did!" Gilbert declared in cold accents of disgust.

Gerald's eyes fell beneath the other's accusing glance. For a minute the lame boy hesitated whether to continue the conversation or not; then he said—

"Of course, it's nothing to do with me, really; but it's so—so dishonourable to wilfully mislead any one. Your sister told me you had gone to the cricket-field—I knew you had not. I was—"

"Did you tell her so?" Gerald interrupted in dismay.

"No."

"That's all right, then. It doesn't do to let girls know everything, and Angel's awfully curious."

"Why didn't you tell her the truth? There was no harm in your going fishing."

Gerald was silent He had no intention of acknowledging that the neighbourhood of the clay pits was forbidden ground to him.

"I know Reginald Hope thinks lightly of honour and truthfulness," Gilbert proceeded, "but I'm surprised you should let him influence you. I say, Willis, if I were you I'd knock off being so friendly with him, I would indeed. No good will come of your intercourse with him, I feel sure of that. I believe he has you under his thumb already."

"You mind your own business!" Gerald retorted rudely. "Hope's a great friend of mine, and I'm not going to stand here and listen to you running out against him. You're jealous of him, that's what you are, because he's so much more popular at school than you are yourself."

The passionate colour flamed to Gilbert's face, but he calmed his temper with an effort as he responded with unusual gentleness and forbearance—

"You're making a mistake, Willis, and you'll find it out some day."

Gerald uttered a wrathful ejaculation, and turning on his heel walked off with his head held very high, and his heart full of feelings of resentment and anger. How he hated Gilbert Mickle for his interference. No thought of his sin in wilfully deceiving his sister entered his mind; no sense of the wickedness of disobedience troubled him. His conscience had pricked him when he had first begun to deviate from the straight path of truth; but by slow degrees it had been successfully silenced, and now it only troubled him occasionally.

Gilbert Mickle returned home in any thing but a tranquil frame of mind. He felt certain that Gerald's acquaintance with Reginald Hope was leading him into evil ways, and he knew that Gerald's relations were utterly unconscious of the fact. Ought he to tell them? That was the question which troubled him and brought a cloud of anxiety to his face. Indecision is always painful; and Mrs. Mickle, who was alone in the sitting-room on his return, was much struck by the troubled expression on his countenance. He generally came home in good spirits from Haresdown House. She told him she had been shopping with his sisters, and then inquired how he had got on with his drawing lesson that afternoon.

"Very well, mother," he replied. "I enjoyed it as I always do; and Mr. Willis says I am making good progress."

"But something is amiss! What has gone wrong? Nothing about Tom, I hope?"

"Oh, no, no! It's nothing to do with us, really, but—well, you know, mother, I don't usually interfere with other people's business, but I like Mr. Willis and Mr. Bailey so much, and the girls are fond of Angel—in short, it's about Gerald I'm bothered. I believe if he isn't stopped he'll be ruined."

"What do you mean, Gilbert? Ruined? How?"

He proceeded to explain at some length how Gerald's spare time was spent mostly in the company of Reginald Hope and his friends; and how Gerald had deliberately lied to his sister that afternoon, to all of which Mrs. Mickle listened in dismayed silence.

"What makes you have such a bad opinion of Reginald Hope?" she asked, when her son had finished his tale. "Of course, I know his father indulges him, and allows him to have his own way; but is there any real harm in him?"

"He will tell any lie if it suits his purpose, and he has such a plausible tongue that he would easily dupe a youngster like Willis. Then, he bets and gambles."

"Bets! gambles!" Mrs. Mickle echoed in accents of intense astonishment. "Impossible! You must be mistaken, Gilbert, surely."

"No, mother, I'm not. Tom knows it too. A great deal of betting and gambling goes on amongst a certain set of the Grammar School boys on the sly; and I believe Hope is one of the ringleaders. I can't prove it, but I know it's true, nevertheless. There would be an awful row if it was found out."

"Oh, Gilbert, you surprise and distress me. The masters cannot be aware of anything of the kind?"

"No, no! It's all done secretly. That's why it's so difficult to speak out. I couldn't charge Hope with betting, although I'm certain he does. I'm so afraid he will induce young Willis to bet too, if he hasn't done it already."

"Oh, do you think it's possible he has?"

The boy shook his head doubtfully.

He knew Gerald Willis had been short of money lately, and that he had tried to borrow from Tom, who, however, had not been in the position to lend, having spent his week's allowance. Tom was not as friendly with Gerald now as he had been during the Easter holidays, for the former was devoted to cricket, and the latter generally found other amusements.

"Dear, dear!" Mrs. Mickle exclaimed, shaking her head sorrowfully; "I am very grieved to hear such a report of Gerald Willis. You have warned him against Reginald Hope, you say, and he would not listen to you? I am sorry for that."

"Perhaps I didn't go the right way about it," Gilbert admitted. "I dare say I bungled."

"How would it be to speak to his father?"

"Oh no, mother! That would be too presumptuous. I don't see I can do anything more at present, at any rate. I believe, Mr. Willis is the sort of man who would never think of suspecting evil of any one; I have not the least doubt but that he considers Gerald perfectly truthful and honourable; and Angel is so fond of her brother, that I'm sure it would take a great deal to make her think any harm of him."

"And yet the girls say he puts upon her in many ways," Mrs. Mickle said reflectively, "but I can understand how that has come about. She has always made his happiness her first thought; she told me she promised her dead mother to be loving and patient with him. Angel is a dear, good child."

"Gerald is very selfish," Gilbert remarked. "I've often noticed how he manages to get everything he wants when I've been at Haresdown House, and wondered that Mr. Willis hasn't noticed it too. I believe Mr. Bailey sees it."

"It's a good thing if he does. Well, Gilbert, I do not see that you can interfere further in this matter; you have done all you can by warning Gerald against Reginald Hope, which I consider you were right in doing, though I have no doubt your intention was misconstrued."

"Yes; Gerald considers I am jealous of Hope; in fact, he said so. That's not true."

"No, dear, of course it's not." Mrs. Mickle crossed the room to her son's side, and leaning over the back of the chair on which he was seated, pushed back his hair with a gentle hand, and kissed him on the forehead. "I am so pleased to see you show such kindly interest in poor Gerald," she said; "you are not the first well-intentioned person who has been misjudged."

"Oh, mother, I don't mind that! I'm really sorry for Gerald. Suppose it was our Tom? Besides, Gerald has no mother, and I'm certain if it wasn't for you I should be a great deal worse than I am in every way."

"Oh, my dear, don't say that! If you had not me you would still have your best friend to go to for help and counsel. I may fail you, but God never will. And don't you think we might ask Him to protect poor Gerald from evil, and to show him how wrong it is to be so untruthful? If you can't help the poor misguided boy, we know Jesus can."

Gilbert made no reply; but he looked up at his mother with the tender smile which she loved to see, and she was satisfied that Gerald would be remembered in his prayers. No one realized better than Mrs. Willis how much of Gilbert's temper was the result of a peculiarly sensitive disposition; and that he held himself aloof from boys of his own age simply from fear of ridicule. He had always protested that he took little interest in other people, but that had been a pretence, as his mother had imagined; and she was certain now that had been the case, for he was as anxious to save Gerald Willis from the toils of evil companions as though he was his own brother, and would have done a great deal to serve him for his own sake, as well as for the sake of his relations.

Mrs. Mickle had a very tender, sympathetic heart, and she could not dismiss Gerald and the suspicions Gilbert entertained about him from her thoughts. If Gilbert's suspicions were correct, surely it was some one's place to open Mr. Willis' eyes to the state of affairs. Was it her place? She could not make up her mind. In her perplexity she consulted her husband, but he seemed unable to advise her, and pointed out that she had no direct charge to bring against Reginald Hope.

Mrs. Mickle had almost decided not to interfere in the matter when the remembrance that the Willis children were motherless caused her to reflect again, and she finally made up her mind that she would call at Haresdown House, and let circumstances guide her as to whether she should broach the subject of Gerald's undesirable acquaintance or not.

"God will show me what to do, and if I must speak, He will teach me what to say," she thought; "I will leave the matter in His hands." And having come to that determination she felt more satisfied.