The Girls of Chequertrees. Marion St. John Webb
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remember Miss Emily Crabingway, doubtless. The lady is, if I am not mistaken, a fourth cousin to—to madam here?" He inclined his head again toward Mrs Heath.
"Emily Crabingway! Why, yes," said Mrs Heath. "But I haven't seen her for years—quite twelve years I should think."
"So she says, madam, so she says," continued Mr Sigglesthorne. "Well—I am her second cousin once removed, if I may say so—and she has entrusted me with a little—er—a little transaction—I mean proposal, or rather suggestion—er—with regard to your daughter Pamela." Mr Sigglesthorne was still polishing his glasses energetically. "Miss Emily Crabingway is obliged to go up to Scotland—on business. That was all I had to tell you about that part, I believe—yes, that's correct—on business, she said. She will be away for six months…" He hesitated, his eyes on the top of the window curtains behind Mr Heath's head. "Yes—six months—and during that time she wants to know if Miss Pamela will go and live at her house in Barrowfield, and look after it for her—and—" he went on, emphasizing each word as if repeating a lesson, "certain conditions being undertaken by Miss Pamela, and fulfilled properly—Miss Crabingway will—er—bestow upon the young lady a sum of—if I may say so—a not inconsiderable sum—er—in short, fifty pounds." Mr Sigglesthorne removed his gaze from the top of the curtains to Mr Heath's boots, which he appeared to study intently for a space.
Mr and Mrs Heath exchanged surprised glances, but Pamela was looking wonderingly at Mr Sigglesthorne's magnificent forehead, and did not move. Before any of them could speak Mr Sigglesthorne resumed:
"If Miss Pamela agrees to accept the offer she would be required to sign this paper, promising to obey certain instructions of Miss Crabingway's; but doubtless you would like to read it—I have it here in my pocket."
Mr Sigglesthorne stopped polishing his glasses, and resting them on the top of his hat, which lay on a chair beside him, he felt in his coat pocket. But his memory had played him false; it was the wrong pocket. He turned the contents out, but not finding what he sought he tried another pocket, fumbling with nervous, clumsy fingers, and producing various papers and envelopes and odd bits of string. The longer he searched the more nervous he got. "Tut! tut!" he kept saying to himself. "But how careless of me! Tut! tut! Exceedingly annoying!"
Mrs Heath tried to ease the situation by murmuring something polite, but Pamela was suddenly seized with an intense desire to start laughing. Mr Sigglesthorne looked so funny and perplexed, and he kept dropping his papers on the floor in his nervousness, and once he knocked his hat down, and the glasses too. Pamela, almost choking with the effort of keeping her face straight, was glad of the opportunity of rescuing the hat and placing it back on the chair; she was thankful to be able to do anything at all instead of sitting still and trying to keep serious. Mr Sigglesthorne's apologies and thanks for his hat were profuse.
At length, after going through five pockets, Mr Sigglesthorne found what he wanted, to everybody's relief.
"Perhaps I should mention," he said, as he handed an envelope across to Pamela, "that Miss Crabingway is inviting three other young girls—somewhere about Miss Pamela's age—to stay at her house also—but you will see about that, though, in the letter."
Pamela opened the envelope and spread out the sheet of paper it contained so that her mother and father could read it at the same time. It was a sheet of foolscap paper covered with black, spiky handwriting, writing which Mrs Heath recognized as Miss Emily Crabingway's from the Christmas card she received from her every year, the interchange of Christmas cards being the only communication she had held with this distant cousin of hers for the last twelve years.
"Read it aloud, Pamela," said her father. So Pamela read the following letter:
DEAR PAMELA,
Although I have not seen you since you were four years old, I have a fancy that I should like you to come to Barrowfield and look after my house and its inmates while I am away on business....
Here Mr Sigglesthorne smiled and nodded his head vigorously, and leaning back in his chair began to polish his glasses again.
… I shall be away for six months, and during that time—if you agree to come—you must promise to obey the following instructions. You will please sign your name under them and give the paper to Mr Sigglesthorne, who is acting for me in this matter, as I am unable to come and visit you myself owing to my urgent call from home.
These are the instructions to be obeyed:
1. While you are staying under my roof you are not to visit, nor invite to the house, any relatives whatsoever.
2. No letters are to be written home, but one postcard every month may be sent; and you may only receive post-cards, no letters, from your relatives—and then only one card each month.
3. On no account may you try to open the locked-up room at the end of the first floor landing. Nor may you peer through the keyhole.
A faint chuckle escaped Mr Sigglesthorne, a fleeting, scarcely audible chuckle which he suffocated immediately. There was a blank space after the 'instructions' for Pamela to sign her name; and then a few more lines ended the letter.
I am leaving my two trusted servants, Martha and Ellen, to cook, and clean the house. When I return at the end of six months I will hand over to you—providing you have not broken any of the above conditions—the sum of £50, which is deposited meanwhile with my banker. (Enclosed you will find banker's guarantee for same.)
I am likewise offering the same sum of money to three other girls who are being asked to come and stay at my house, and to whom I want you to act as hostess. The girls' names are: Beryl Cranswick, Isobel Prior, and Caroline Weston.
Send me a wire to reach me by Saturday evening saying whether you accept this invitation or not. If you accept you must arrive at Barrowfield not later than Tuesday next.
Trusting you will be sensible and wire 'yes,'
There was silence for a few moments when Pamela finished reading. She handed the banker's guarantee across to her father, who took it without a word.
"Well!" queried Mr Sigglesthorne, polishing nervously.
"Well," said Mrs Heath, "I think we must have a little time to consider the matter."
"Why does Miss Crabingway want to cut me off from you all like that, Mother, for six whole months?" burst out Pamela.
Mrs Heath shook her head and looked across at Mr Sigglesthorne, who, catching her inquiring glance, shook his head also.
"I know no more than I have told you, madam," he said. "Miss Crabingway sent for me—she has been very good to me occasionally, when I have been temporarily embarrassed for money—if you will excuse my introducing such a subject—and asked me to go and see the parents of the young ladies she wished to invite, and present them personally with her letter and instructions. I have already seen one of the young ladies–"
"And is she willing to come—the one you've seen?" asked Pamela.
"She is going to make up her mind and wire to-day to Miss Crabingway, and if she wires 'yes' she will post on to me the paper of instructions, duly signed, to my address by Monday morning." Mr Sigglesthorne stood up and began gathering his belongings together preparatory to taking his leave. "I will leave you my address; will you kindly send me your paper, if you decide to accept? Unfortunately, you have very little time to consider the matter—only a few hours—as Miss Crabingway is expecting your wire this evening.... Now is there anything more you would like to ask me, madam, or sir?" he asked politely.
But although Mrs Heath put one or two anxious questions, he could throw no further light on the matter than before.
"I think—if you will forgive my saying so—that it is just a whim—a fancy on Miss Crabingway's part. I feel sure your daughter will be well cared for at Barrowfield—and if she does not like it (although I suppose I shouldn't say this) she can always come home—and forfeit the fifty pounds, can't she?"
"Yes,