Maud Florence Nellie: or, Don't care!

Those were his last conscious words, and with the daylight that he loved on his face, and, by great mercy, the day spring in his heart, Edgar Cunningham died.

Late on that same afternoon Alwyn was sitting alone on the terrace. He was very tired with the long strain of watching, and so sad at heart that he could scarcely turn with comfort to the thought of the love and the life that awaited him in future; he could only feel the want of the hand that had clung to his so constantly, could only think of the pitifulness of Edgar’s story.

He looked up, and there stood Wyn Warren with his eyes red with crying, and with a great wreath of wild flowers in his hand.

“Please, sir, he liked these best. And there’s a bit of everything here.”

Alwyn looked at the wreath, which was constructed with great skill and of an infinite variety of leaves, berries, and blossoms. Every summer flower lingering in shady corners of the wood had been brought together. There were bits of every different kind of tree – autumn berries, curious seed vessels, grasses and rushes, heather and ferns, moss and lichen – all the woodland world was represented. It could not be a gay wreath with its infinite mixture of tints and forms, but there was the very spirit of the wood in its sober colouring and fresh woody smell.

“It is very beautiful,” said Alwyn. “Yes, he would have liked it very much.”

“He liked the wild things,” said Wyn, “and the creatures; it’s the birds and beasts that ought to follow him.”

“Come,” said Alwyn, “you helped him to all his pleasure in them; come and give him the wreath yourself.”

He took Wyn’s hand and led him, through the sitting-room window, into the room where his young master lay, calm and still, with the bright eyes closed for ever. But the window was uncurtained, and the sun and the sky looked through.

Wyn trembled as he looked. The little carefully-reared boy had never seen death before, and the awe of the sight choked back his tears. Alwyn helped him to lay the wreath on Edgar’s breast, above the white cross already placed there, and then took him out again on to the terrace. Wyn touched his cap and went away; but Alwyn’s silent grief was more comfort to him than any words of consolation would have been, and perhaps Alwyn too was soothed by the sense of fellow-feeling. He was glad to think that the great family vault under the floor of the church, where so many Cunninghams had been laid, could not be opened now, and that Edgar would lie under the turf in the churchyard, with the sky over his head, and the great trees of the wood near at hand.

All the servants and most of the villagers were at that funeral. Wyn Warren was set to walk by Robertson’s side, next after the friends and the family, in which position he felt, in all his trouble, a sort of childish pride. The day was bright, and there was a fresh wind blowing such as Edgar was wont to love, and over the grave, instead of the ordinary hymn, the choir sang some verses about the Heavenly Jerusalem, which seemed to Wyn to picture just the sort of “happy home” where he could fancy that his dear Mr Edgar would dwell.

Thy gardens and thy gallant walks
Continually are green;
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers
As nowhere else are seen.

Quite through the streets, with silver sound,
The flood of Life doth flow;
Upon whose banks on every side
The Wood of Life doth grow.

There trees for evermore bear fruit,
And evermore do spring;
There evermore the angels sit,
And evermore do sing.

“Ah,” thought Wyn, “Mr Edgar would like that sort of Paradise.”

Later in the day Alwyn asked Harry Whittaker to meet him in the park and walk with him through the wood. He had several matters, he told him, to talk about.

But when they met he put his arm through his old comrade’s, and walked on for a long time in silence. At last Harry said:

“Things have been different from what we looked for, sir, haven’t they? But there’s comfort waiting at home for us. At least, it seems like home over there now to me.”

“Ah, yes,” said Alwyn. “I have gained more than I ever thought for. But I don’t seem able to think of anything now but my poor boy and the lonely years that I might have made brighter for him if I had not held out so long.”

“You came when he most wanted you,” said Harry.

“Yes, thank God for that! But he had been lonely, though he was such a plucky fellow that he hardly knew it. And I miss – ”

Alwyn’s voice faltered, and he brushed his hand across his eyes.

“That was not what I wanted to talk of,” he said, rousing himself. “What are your plans, Harry? I must not hurry away from my father; but I shall soon be going back now – for a time, at least.”

“I am ready to go back at once,” said Harry. “I’ve heard from my wife, and she’s willing to have my sister Florence out to live with us.”

“Your sister who found the jewels?”

“Yes. Lady Carleton’s very good to her; but she told me – for I went to speak to her ladyship about it – that the girl don’t exactly fit in for service. There’s no one to look after her at home, specially if, as seems likely, my eldest sister settles in life. And I declare, sir, the way the young girls at Rapley run about together is worse for her than any rough company she might see out our way. She gets into mischief for want of something bigger to do. And mischief for girls – well, it is the mischief indeed!”

“So you mean to take her out?”

“No, not with me. They want to have her home a bit first; and she’d be better to wait for this Confirmation. She’s set her heart on being confirmed with Miss Geraldine.”

“Oh, yes, I heard my sister speak of it. But how shall you get her out to you?”

“Markham’s mother and sister are coming out in the spring, and would bring her. You see, sir, Alberta must have some one – we can’t get girls out our way. There’ll be plenty for Florrie to do, and I make no doubt she’ll be happy, and what my aunt calls work off her bouncing.”

Alwyn laughed. “It seems a very good place,” he said; “and certainly she did us a good turn. What – what are the Warrens thinking about for little Wyn? I wish we could give him an opening.”

“I don’t think his parents would part with him,” said Harry. “He’s a nice little chap, but it is a bit difficult to say what next for him. He’s too small and not the sort for a gamekeeper, and, as his father says, he’d never have the heart to kill the vermin. Then he thought of getting him taken into the garden under Mr Elton; but I’m afraid he’d fret and not be much good here.”

“Edgar asked me to take care of him,” said Alwyn. “He said that perhaps he had spoiled him for other work. But he was very fond of him.”

“Ah, sir, he’ll be none the worse for having thought of some one before himself. You know they had had a notion, as he was so handy and quiet, to let him be put under a butler for a time and then be trained up to wait on invalid gentlemen. But – ”

“Well?” said Alwyn.

“Well, his sister Bessie said something to him, but he hid his face and said, ‘They’d all die. Robertson says five have.’”

“Poor little chap,” said Alwyn. “It’s too soon to tease him about it. But I must talk to his father, and think what can be done.”

The matter was not settled very easily. Mr Cunningham’s ideas were bounded by giving Wyn a sovereign, and letting him run about the place in any capacity that might turn up.

Bessie, thinking this very undesirable, wanted him to come and board with her, and be apprenticed to the schoolmaster as pupil-teacher. Wyn said that he hated teaching, and couldn’t bear to be shut up indoors. Alwyn hardly knew enough of English life to judge what would be best, but he could not bear the notion that Edgar’s favourite should be left to run to waste, or to a life in which he would not be happy, and at last Sir Philip Carleton made a suggestion.

If the boy really had a turn for plants and flowers, and they wanted to get him into a superior line, why should not an appointment be got for him when a little older at Kew or some other great public garden? If he was clever and took to the work, there were all sorts of openings. And in the meantime, as his education by all accounts consisted chiefly of the names of mosses and lichens, and the habits of birds, field-mice, and other wild creatures of the woods, send him to school – to the great Church public school at Ardingly for boys of his standing – where he would meet other sons of gentlemen’s servants, besides boys of a superior class. He could learn Latin and science, it would be a complete change for him, and the tutors there would soon find out what he was fit for.

Alwyn liked the idea very much. He thought that Wyn had capabilities, and there was an affectionate simplicity about the little fellow that was very engaging. So, as Mr and Mrs Warren gave their grateful consent, it was at once settled that he should go to Ardingly after the Christmas holidays, about the same time as Florence’s passage was taken for New York.

Chapter Twenty Three

The Colour of the Jewels

Before the Confirmation day came the lost jewels were safely restored to Lady Carleton’s keeping, and the diamonds that had been hidden for eight years in a hollow tree were likely to be handed down as heirlooms to her children with additional care and interest.

But over the bent heads of the three young people who had had so much interest in their loss and their recovery, there flashed a glory of mystic light and colour. For the great west window of Ashcroft Church was filled with painted glass, jewel-like in pattern and colour. In the centre was the form of Him who made the lame to walk, and, as the winter afternoon sun streamed through the window, the earthly colours seemed transmuted into heavenly jewels.