Chapter XXVIII: Pearl's Letter

NO reproaches awaited Beryl on reaching home. Miss Carmichael, seated still in the drawing-room, welcomed her affectionately. Mrs. Fenwick looked unusually bright, and when again alone with Beryl, she said,—"I like Miss Carmichael extremely—much better than I expected ever to do. I have told her about my eyes."

"Oh, I am glad!" Beryl exclaimed.

"She said she had noticed something wrong, and asked if I had found them weak. I told her everything—I am sure I don't know why, for I had not the least idea beforehand of doing so, but it seemed to come naturally. She looked at my eyes, and asked a good many questions. And when I told her the name of my oculist, she did not seem to think much of him. She said it was a case in which I ought to have the very best advice, and she has advised me to go to another for a second opinion. I have written down his name and address—quite one of the first London oculists—and I really think I shall go. It is always worth while to have a second opinion. He might even say that an operation will not be necessary. What a relief that would be! I have such an utter horror of any sort of operation. I really am very glad I spoke to Miss Carmichael. She is wonderfully kind and feeling, and I seem quite cheered up by her visit. I hope she will come again soon. What day do you think we had better go, Beryl?"

Diana was positively excited, talked incessantly for the next hour, and was like a different person. A reactionary low fit set in later, and after indulging in a good many dismal forebodings, and deciding that Miss Carmichael's opinion was worth little, she fell asleep on the sofa.

Beryl experienced a sense of relief. She was just settling herself with a book, when the postman came through the garden. Beryl rose softly, and went out to the front door, thereby stopping the loud rap which would inevitably have aroused Diana.

A letter from Pearl, addressed to herself. Beryl received it with a flutter of pleasure, which was enhanced as she tore open the envelope by perceiving that it was no mere hasty business scrap. Pearl must have been in a sisterly or home-sick mood, indeed, to write so much. Beryl dared not remain alone to enjoy it, as her inclinations would have prompted, and she crept noiselessly back to the window of the drawing-room, stilling every movement which might arouse the sleeper. She wanted to have her letter to herself, just at first. It ran as follows:—

"CANNES, _Thursday._

"DEAR BERYL,—We have been having some nice drives and walks lately. I like Cannes very much, for some reasons, but I think I am growing tired of being abroad. Of course my French is much better for it. I could teach French quite well now, only I should hate to teach anybody. I shall never be able to do 'that.' If it came to the worst, I would rather make bonnets and caps than teach.

"Mr. Crosbie does not mean to leave Cannes until the spring winds are over—at least he says so now. He may change to-morrow, perhaps. But there is a sort of change of plans going on. He is to live with Mrs. Cumming again, and he says he will stay abroad just as long as she likes. And Miss Crosbie means to go home. She doesn't like France, and French cooking makes her ill. I suppose she has written to Aunt Di, or, if not, of course she will write. She is going to start very soon, and I am going with her. I don't know exactly what day yet, but I am sure dear Aunt Di will be glad to have me back; and this is my first chance, you know. I'll write to Aunt Di to-morrow or next day.

"Don't tell Aunt Di what I am going to say. I am so dreadfully puzzled. Beryl, Escott has asked me to marry him, and Mrs. Cumming seems to want it too,—and she seems almost sure that I shall say 'Yes.' I like Escott very much, of course,—very much indeed. He is as good and nice as can be. But I don't seem to feel like 'that,'—you know what I mean. Ivor was so different. If only he were more like Ivor. And yet he is very nice,—and he seems so fond of me, poor fellow.

"I said at first that I couldn't, and then Mrs. Cumming asked me to think about it. And I am not sure after all that I shall not. But I want to come home first. You don't know much about such things, but you have a sort of sensible way, and I think I should like to talk it over with you.

"Only mind, Beryl, you MUST NOT say one word of this to Aunt Di or
anybody. It is only just for yourself.

"Escott is a great deal stronger than he was in the summer, though he looks very white and thin still, I wish he were stronger and browner. I don't like invalidish men. But I fancy he will get over that by and by.

"Aunt Di doesn't seem well yet, from her own account. Give her my love, and tell her that I expect seeing me will do her good.—Believe me, your affectionate sister, PEARL FORDYCE."

"Who is that letter from?" asked Diana's voice suddenly, as Beryl reached the end.

"From Pearl." Beryl was utterly perplexed, knowing what would come next.

"Any news in it? She doesn't often trouble herself to write."

"Pearl and Miss Crosbie are coming home," said Beryl slowly.

Diana sat upright, a red flush coming into either cheek. "Marian is not coming 'here,'" she said.

Beryl was silent.

"What does Pearl say? Read me the letter."

Beryl obeyed, so far as was in her power. She managed cleverly to skip the private piece, without too obvious a break. Diana was unconscious of the hiatus, being, perhaps, too irate for delicate observation.

"Cool. As if my house were a public hotel! I wonder what next! I don't care where Marian goes, but she will not come here. Pearl seems very well satisfied about 'her' welcome!" And Diana laughed.

Beryl folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket, hoping that the danger was over. "Aunt Di, wouldn't it be so much happier for us all, if you could just forgive, and let Miss Crosbie be the same that she used to be?" she asked.

The fact that Beryl might venture to put such a question at all showed the altered relations between them.

"No," said Diana shortly. "I never change my mind. I have said that Marian shall not live here again, and she shall not."

"You won't write and say that to her?" expostulated Beryl, with real courage. "Will you, Aunt Di?"

"I shall write and say what I choose. It is no business of yours. What does Pearl say about the time of their coming? Let me see the letter."

"She says they do not know yet exactly when they start, Aunt Di, but she will write in a day or two."

Something in Beryl's manner roused Diana's suspicions. "Let me see the letter," she repeated.

Beryl made no movement in response. "Have you read the whole of it to me?"

Beryl was always truthful. "No," she answered.

"Pearl can say nothing to you which she would not say to me. I choose to see the letter."

Beryl was in dire perplexity. It was not her way to be frightened, but she could not decide as to which was the right course to pursue. How far was she bound by Pearl's confidence? How far did she owe submission in such a matter to Mrs. Fenwick?

"I choose to see the letter at once, Beryl!"

Diana grew white with passion at the delay. She was alike of a jealous and an inquisitive temperament, and was quick to take offence at what she considered a slight to herself.

But before Beryl's eyes rose a recollection of Pearl's face—a sweet little face, pearl-complexioned, with pink tinting and pretty wistful eyes,—as it had been in childhood, rather than as it had been of late, certainly somewhat marred by habits of self-consciousness and self-indulgent wilfulness, though still it was a face which nobody could help admiring. Could she refuse Pearl's wish, and decline to act the sisterly part for which Pearl appealed?

"I am sorry, Aunt Di, but I don't think I should be right to show it," she said.

"You dare to refuse?"

"It is nothing about you or Miss Crosbie. It is only something about Pearl herself, which she says I am not to tell anybody."

"If you and Pearl are going to band together against me, there's an end of the matter, and I shall wash my hands of you both. A couple of penniless children, who would have been in the workhouse but for me. And this is all the gratitude I get in return."

Diana was working herself up to fever-heat.

Beryl, though greatly troubled, remained quiet outwardly.

"You know you don't really mean that, Aunt Di," she said. "I have tried hard lately to show that I am grateful. And you know I am Pearl's own sister. It is natural she should have something to say to me sometimes."

"I don't care whether it is natural or not. I intend to see that letter before I go to bed to-night."

Silence followed for some seconds, and then Beryl rose suddenly.

"Where are you going?" Diana asked in her sharpest tone.

"Upstairs. I will be back directly."

She passed swiftly out of the room, and went straight to her own. There she drew out the letter, looked at it, and sighed.

"I should have liked to keep it—the first real letter like a sister's that I ever had from her. But I mustn't. I must not mind. I must guard Pearlie's secret. I am so glad that she can trust me."

Beryl walked to the fender, struck a match, and set the sheet alight. Then she knelt watching, till it was reduced to a little heap of light ash.

A movement behind made her look round, and she met Diana's eyes.

"A nice fashion of taking your own way," sneered Diana.

Beryl stood up slowly. "I am very sorry," she said with a strange meekness, for by nature she would have flown out in self-defence, knowing herself to be in the right. "But I could not do anything else."

Diana turned away, and conversation was at an end for that evening. If Beryl spoke to Mrs. Fenwick, she received no answer.