Silverthorns

But Claudia laughed brightly.

"I think the world is a much nicer place than most people allow, Aunt Mildred."

"You have seen such a great deal of it," Lady Mildred replied. "I am not sure but that you have seen enough of the Wortherham corner of it, however. I think you are beyond Miss Lloyd's institution. What you should have now is some first-rate teaching in France and Germany."

Claudia's eyes glistened.

"Of course I should like that very much," she said; "but I do think the teaching very good at Miss Lloyd's--it has been already such a test to me of what I really do know."

The telegram with a favourable reply about the rooms came that morning. The very next day saw Lady Mildred and Claudia installed in them. Claudia had never been in London before for more than a day or two at a time, and in spite of the dreary winter weather she was full of delight. Even the slight fog, which of course greeted them on their awaking the next morning, could not depress her spirits.

"I have always wanted so to see a real London fog," she said with satisfaction, when her aunt called her back from her station at the window.

"But, my dear, this is not a real fog," said Lady Mildred laughing. "It is foggy, certainly; but a real London fog, as you call it, would rather astonish you."

"I hope we shall have one then, while we are in town," said Claudia, naively.

And Lady Mildred was still laughing at her when Mr Miller was announced, and Claudia was dismissed.

"What a very charming girl," began the old gentleman, as she left the room. Everybody always did say something of the kind about Claudia, but in the present case the remark struck Lady Mildred as rather forced. It seemed to her that Mr Miller was deferring the evil moment of some communication he had to make to her. "Is she a relation of yours--or-- or perhaps of Mr Osbert's?" he went on with a sudden gleam of interest.

"Of Mr Osbert's!" repeated Lady Mildred, contemptuously. "What are you thinking of, my good Mr Miller? You know all about Mr Osbert's relations as well as or better than I do. You know he had none near enough to count except General Osbert and his family; and General Osbert has no daughter."

"No; but there are relations of Mr Osbert's, and not so very distant ones either, living within a short drive of you," said Mr Miller, rather snappishly. He did not like Lady Mildred's tone. "I had occasion several times to remind Mr Osbert of this, though possibly your ladyship's attention was never drawn to it."

"You mean those Waldrons, I suppose," said Lady Mildred. "I do not know their exact connection with the Osberts. I know my husband did not like them; he had some trouble with old Mrs Waldron when he first came to Silverthorns, I remember his telling me. Some interference or some unreasonable claim she made. But why should we waste time in speaking about them just now, Mr Miller; you have some important matters to talk over with me, and I have been making myself quite uneasy with wondering what they could be."

She expected some courteous and smiling expression of regret and reassurance from the lawyer; but to her surprise his face remained very grave.

"Yes; I have some most important matters to discuss with you," he said; "I have been foreseeing the present state of things for some time. There has been--I have had bad news from Cannes. You are aware that General Osbert and his family--a very small family now--usually spend the winters there, though I think you never have any direct communication with them?"

"Never," said Lady Mildred; "though they keep themselves informed of _my_ state of health, no doubt. My death will be a matter of some moment to them." But Mr Miller took no notice of this caustic observation.

"As I was saying," he went on, "I have had bad news from Cannes. The elder son--the only one, one might almost say, for the other one is hopelessly consumptive--had a bad accident last week; he was thrown from his horse. Yesterday evening came a telegram announcing his death."

Lady Mildred started.

"But he was married," she said hastily.

"Yes; he has been married several years to a cousin on his mother's side, but he has left no children; he never had any. General Osbert is terribly broken down by this, and he is already an old man. It is practically the end of the family. The other son cannot live many months."

"And I am an old woman," said Lady Mildred: "I may die any day. Don't be afraid to speak out, Mr Miller. You are thinking of what will become of the property if all General Osbert's family thus comes to an end."

"Yes," said Mr Miller quietly, "I am. Not what _will_ become of it, but what _should_. I have much to explain to you, which I do not think you have ever thoroughly understood, indeed I have not always thoroughly understood it myself. There were some things wrongly done when the property last changed hands--not so much illegally as unfairly and unkindly."

"You mean to say when my husband's branch of it came into possession," said Lady Mildred hastily. "I will listen to no blame of _him_, Mr Miller."

Mr Miller smiled a little.

"I do not ask you to do so, Lady Mildred," he said. "Mr Osbert was misinformed and prejudiced; and there was foolish pride on the other side--reluctance to explain things properly. I blame the old squire's sister, the late Mrs Waldron, for this, though she was an admirable woman. If you will allow me, I will go over the whole with you, and explain exactly the present position of things."

Lady Mildred was closeted with Mr Miller for a long time that morning. When he at last left and Claudia rejoined her, the girl saw that she was grave and thoughtful, but not restless or uneasy.

"Mr Miller had melancholy news to give me, Claudia," she said; "my husband's nephew, General Osbert's son, is dead. It is very, very sad for them." Claudia's bright face shadowed over.

"Have they no other children?"

"It is not `they'--the old man is a widower. Yes; he has one other son, but he is frightfully delicate," and Lady Mildred sighed. "I have a good deal on my mind, my dear. I don't quite see what to do. What should you say to our going abroad; I may have to see the General on business matters."

"I should like it, of course," said Claudia; "especially if--please don't think me selfish--if I could go on with my lessons."

"Oh, you tiresome child! You have lessons on the brain: yes, of course you would go on with them, and learn more than at Miss Lloyd's. No, I am not vexed with you; it is right and necessary that you should feel as you do. I wonder, by the bye, how that little fellow is--the little Waldron boy. I hope his adventure has done him no lasting harm; he did look so very thin and delicate. Perhaps the hearing of those unfortunate people's troubles has made me think of him again."

"Might I write to his sister to ask how he is, Aunt Mildred?" said Claudia. She would have spoken eagerly, for she felt so, but she knew that with Lady Mildred it was best to be calm.

Rather to her surprise the response was almost cordial.

"Yes; I have no objection. It would seem only natural after our having had him with us. Tell the girl I should like to hear that his exposure in the snow has done him no harm."

"Thank you, aunt; I will write at once," said Claudia, flushing with pleasure.

"What do you thank me for, my dear?" said Lady Mildred, with a rather curious smile. "It is rather I that should thank you for writing the letter for me."

But Claudia saw that she was not vexed, though she could not quite understand her.

"Aunt Mildred is rather incomprehensible sometimes," she said to herself; "but it is no use minding; she is so very good and kind."

For it was not by any means Claudia's way to worry or perplex herself with useless puzzles or wonderings; her heart and mind were too full of pleasanter and more profitable things.

She was not able, much as she wished to do so, to write to Charlotte that day. For she had to go out with her aunt, to write some notes to friends for her, and various other small pieces of business to attend to which made it evening before she had any leisure; and in the evening Lady Mildred disliked to see her occupied. And the next day was Sunday, when, as everybody knows, all the postal arrangements in London go to sleep.

So it was not till Tuesday morning that Claudia's letter was put into Charlotte's hands at the breakfast-table.

"A letter for me," she exclaimed, with some excitement and surprise; for Charlotte's letters, except on the very rare occasions when she was away from home for a little, were few and far between. "I wonder what it is. I wish it could be anything to please poor Jerry," she went on speaking half to herself.

For since they had brought him home, Jerry had been ill--confined to bed now for the best part of a week, and it seemed very melancholy without him, even in that busy household. It had not done him any harm to bring him straight home that first day; the harm was done already; the chill had given him a bad feverish cold, and though it was not anything very serious he was much weakened by it.

"He must get up his strength, or we shall be afraid to let him out again till the fine weather comes," the doctor said; "and that would be a sad thing for a boy of his age."

Then when he went down-stairs with Mrs Waldron to write a prescription for a tonic, he sat looking thoughtful and pre-occupied for a minute or two. Jerry's mother was a little alarmed.

"You don't think there is anything much the matter with him?" she said.

"No, oh no; he has rather lost ground in his general health the last few months. He needed a fresh start or a fillip, and unluckily he has, so to speak, had one the wrong way. But there is nothing to be uneasy about, only considering how wonderfully he has improved in the last few years, I should like to see him still stronger."

"Yes," Mrs Waldron agreed; "and in another year or so he will be getting into a higher class at school, and he will have to work harder, that will be trying for him."

"Exactly," said the doctor, who had known Jerry since he was a baby; "now's the time for him to get up his strength. You couldn't by any possibility, I suppose, manage to send him out of England, to some of the mild health places, for a winter? It would be the making of him."

Mrs Waldron shook her head. She saw no chance whatever of such a thing and said so.

"Ah, well," said the doctor, "we must do our best. I dare say he'll pull up again. It was only an idea that struck me."

And when he had gone, and Jerry's mother went up-stairs again, it struck her too that the boy did look sadly in want of something of the kind.

"If only we were rich," she thought. "When we are all well it does not seem to press so--it is illness that brings small means home to one sorely."

Charlotte opened her letter, and glanced through it; then made a little exclamation. She had her wish. It was something that would please Jerry.

"What is it?" asked her mother.

"It is,"--Charlotte began with a very slight shade of reluctance--"it is a letter from Miss Meredon to ask how Jerry is."

"It is very nice of her to have thought of it," said Mrs Waldron.

"She writes, she says, by Lady Mildred's wish," said Charlotte; "they are in London."

"Well, you may run up-stairs and tell Jerry about it. It will please him," said her mother.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

LADY MILDRED MAKES UP HER MIND.

Jerry was sitting up in bed; he was so far better that no serious illness was now to be feared, but he was weak and depressed, feeling vaguely "sorry for himself," not quite sure what he wanted, nor eager to profit by the doctor's permission to get up in the afternoon, and go down to have tea in the drawing-room.

He glanced up listlessly as Charlotte came in.

"I have an hour still before I need to go to school," she said, "so I have come up to you, Jerry: there is a letter about you this morning."

"About me!" Jerry exclaimed; "anything about school, do you mean? They know I'm ill."

"No, not from school; it's from Miss Meredon, to ask how you are; they're in London."

"How nice of her!" said Jerry, his eyes brightening. "I'm sure you must see, Charlotte, how nice she is."

"Yes," Charlotte allowed; "she is kind and good; I'll never say she's not. But it can't be difficult to be nice when one has everything one wants, like her," she added, reverting to her old strain.

Jerry looked disappointed.

"I think you are rather unfair, Charlotte," he said. "If she wasn't nice you'd say she was spoilt and selfish, and as she _is_ nice you say it's no credit to her. How can you tell that it isn't very difficult to be nice and kind to others when one has everything one wants oneself? _Papa_ says it is very difficult indeed not to get spoilt when one's like that."

"I'd like to be tried," said Charlotte.

"Besides," pursued Jerry, "do you know I'm not quite sure that she _has_ everything the way we fancied."

Charlotte looked up eagerly.

"What do you mean?" she said. "What can there be that she hasn't got? We _know_ she's very rich and clever and pretty; that's a good deal, any way."

"But I'm almost sure she has to be away from the people she loves most," said Jerry; "I know it by some things she said. And I could tell by her ways that she's used to brothers and sisters--I fancy there's a lot of them."

"She is rather to be pitied for that," said Charlotte half-laughingly, "though it can't be so bad when people are rich. And then as Lady Mildred has adopted her what can it matter?"

"I shouldn't like to be adopted away from you all, however grand and rich I was to be," said Jerry, "and I don't believe you'd like it either, whatever you say. You make yourself out worse than you are, Charlotte."

"Well, read the letter," she said, and Jerry did so. As he gave it back to Charlotte he grew rather red.

"Do you see?" he said; "they're not coming back--not till after Christmas. Charlotte, you're sure of the German prize."

Charlotte's face lighted up.

"I did not notice that," she said; "I thought she said something about staying a few days."

"No," said Jerry, "she says, `We shall not return to Silverthorns till after Christmas, perhaps a few days after, and perhaps not so soon.'"

Charlotte drew a deep breath.

"I see," she said. "My composition is nearly finished. Oh, Jerry, how I hope I shall get the prize now."

"You are sure to," he said shortly.

"Unless," Charlotte went on, "unless she possibly finishes it there, and sends it back by post."

"Nonsense," said Jerry; "I am sure she won't. She wouldn't have time for one thing, and--"

"What?"

"Oh, I don't think she's the sort of girl to set herself so to win a prize when she's been so short a time at school with you all," said Jerry.

"No; perhaps not. Of course it _can't_ matter to her as it does to me. I dare say she's forgotten all about it now she's up in London amusing herself," said Charlotte in a satisfied tone which Jerry found rather provoking. "I don't mind her not trying--I mean I'm not too proud to say I know she would have won it if she had. I shall always say so, for she is much further on and much cleverer than any of us. And some of them have been working very hard lately. It isn't as if I had no one worth trying against."

Jerry said no more. He was glad for Charlotte, but he did feel it hard that Claudia's self-sacrifice, which had been just as great and real as if after events had not rendered it unnecessary, should remain for ever unknown and unappreciated.

"I wonder if I shall _never_ be able to tell Charlotte," he said to himself. "Long after, perhaps, when she's left off caring about school things. I should like her to know some day," and his blue eyes gazed out into the future wistfully.

"What are you thinking of, Jerry?" said Charlotte suddenly. "Why do you look so melancholy? The doctor says you may get up this afternoon."

"I know he did," said Jerry, "but I don't think I want to. I'm too tired," and with a little sigh of weariness he lay down again on his pillows.

Charlotte looked at him in distress.

"Oh, dear," she said; "how unlucky that snowy day was, though I suppose things might have turned out worse."

"Yes," replied Jerry with complacency; "I might have had rheumatic fever, or brain fever, perhaps. But, Charlotte, it wasn't because I was feverish that I heard those noises that night; I _know_ it wasn't. And I don't believe papa thinks so either. It can't be true about only a member of the family hearing it, for you see there was papa when he was a little boy. I'd like to tell _her_, Claudia, that."

"It was very queer," said Charlotte; "you don't know how pleased I am to have seen that part of the house, Jerry. I took a good look up the stair to where the tower room must be: there was something melancholy about the house, wasn't there? How awfully nice it would be with a large family in it, and lots of running about."

"You wouldn't mind lots of brothers and sisters then," said Jerry.

"No, I'd like it; just fancy what fun we could have. But I must go, Jerry. I will write to Miss Meredon when I come home."

"I think I'd like to write to her myself," said Jerry. "Ask mamma if I may."

"Very well," said Charlotte, rather surprised; "I dare say mamma will be quite pleased that you want to do it." And so Mrs Waldron was, for Jerry's lassitude and want of energy were troubling her.

He quite brightened up over his letter.

"You won't care to see it, will you, mamma?" he asked. "You see she's such a jolly--an understanding sort of girl; she won't bother about how it's spelt, and all that."

"But you will send a proper message of thanks to Lady Mildred," said his mother. "It is very good of her to take so much interest in you, and she was very kind to you at Silverthorns."

"Not as kind as Miss Meredon was," said Jerry; "but of course I'll say it properly, mamma."

Mrs Waldron told her husband that evening of the letter, and Jerry's replying to it himself.

"I was glad to see him interested about it," she said; "it is so unlike him to be so listless. How strange it seems that we should be in any way brought in contact with Silverthorns after all these years!"

"Stranger even than you think it," he replied. "Do you know I heard only to-day that General Osbert's eldest--or elder, he has only two--son is dead, in consequence of a fall from his horse? He died on the 13th, just the day Jerry was so frightened at Silverthorns. And it was when my old uncle died that I, as a child, was so startled there."

"You won't tell Jerry? It would only deepen the impression."

"Of course not. Besides, there are so many other ways of accounting for what he heard--his own feverish state at the time, in the first place."

"Perhaps it is on account of this news that Lady Mildred has gone up to town just now," said Mrs Waldron.

"I hardly think so: there is still the other son, who may be married and have children, or this one, poor fellow, may have left sons himself for all I know. I have never kept up much knowledge of them. You see it cannot matter to us, as it is so very improbable but that Lady Mildred would leave all to her own people if the Osberts died out."

Mrs Waldron smiled.

"I can't see it quite that way," she said; "you _are_ half Osbert, and then you were so associated with the place from being brought up there. I am sure your grand-uncle would rather it had gone to you than to those far-off cousins."

"Ah, well, it is much better not to think about it," said Mr Waldron philosophically.

Jerry's letter took him some time; he was not satisfied with the first production, and being a very particular, not to say "fussy," little person, he determined to copy it out again. And he was very easily tired still. So it was not till the next day but one that Claudia received the answer to her letter of inquiry.