A Sister of the Red Cross: A Tale of the South African War

Madame Dupuys looked at the young girl, She was sorry for her. She possessed a sufficient amount of the vanities of nature to understand that the pretty face and charming figure would look all the more taking and bewitching set out as she could set them out. Kitty's was not that simple order of beauty which needs no adornment. She looked best when she was richly apparelled, and Madame Dupuys had an artist's soul, and longed to see her own work displayed to the best advantage. Nevertheless, she was really pressed just now for just that hundred and fifty pounds which Kitty ought to have given her; and there was an American heiress who would look quite lovely in the dress she was making for Kitty, and would pay her down bank notes on the spot. Why should she wait interminably? for she did not at all believe in Kitty's promise for Tuesday night, and she absolutely wanted her money.

"I am sorry," she said at last. "I should like to oblige you, Miss Hepworth; but there is only one alternative. If you cannot let me have a cheque immediately, or at least by to-night, for one hundred and fifty pounds, I cannot let you have the new dress."

"Then you are unkind, and I hate you!" said the girl.

Madame Dupuys was not at all affected by these angry words of Kitty's.

"I think you will find the money," she said, with a smile.

And Katherine Hepworth, with despair written on her face, ran downstairs.

"I have no chance if I do not get the dress," she said to herself. "I wonder if Mollie would help me. What is to be done?"

She was too impatient and perturbed to wait for Mrs. Keith. She went out into the street. A hansom was slowly passing. She raised her en-tout-cas to stop the driver. The man drew up to the pavement. The girl got into the hansom. As she did so her foot kicked against something hard. She gave the man the direction of a gay shop in Sloane Street. She intended to buy gloves and a fresh ribbon for her fan there. The man whipped up his horse, and she stooped to see what the hard object was. It was a purse made of Russian leather. She opened it, and saw, to her wonder and delight, that it contained bank notes and gold. Tremblingly she laid it on the seat by her side. But it seemed to sting her as it lay so close and yet so far. She could not get away from the fascination of it. There were a great terror and a great sense of relief all over her.

"What does this mean?" she said to herself. "Oh, of course I ought to give it to the driver, and tell him that somebody has left it here. But why should I? I wonder how much is in it?"

She took it up, and saw further, to her astonishment, that there were letters printed in silver on the outside. The letters might have stood for her own name – "K.H."

"More and more marvellous!" thought the girl.

She opened the purse now, and tumbled the contents into her lap. Altogether there was over a hundred pounds within – about twenty-nine pounds in gold, the rest in notes. Notes are dangerous things to deal with when one wants to be a thief. But Kitty did not think of anything so dreadful as the word "thief" just now. With a hundred pounds she could appease Madame Dupuys; she could get her dress in time for the ball – she could see a way out of her difficulties. Not yet did her conscience prick her; not for an instant did she feel remorse. She would do it. Was it Providence that had put this purse in her way, or was it – She did not wait even to think out the remainder of the sentence. She poked her parasol through the roof of the hansom.

"I want you to go back to 340 Bond Street," she said to the man.

He turned his hansom at once. When they reached the house, Kitty got out, rang the bell, and asked to see Madame Dupuys. The girl who opened the door to her brought her upstairs at once, and in two minutes' time she was in madame's presence.

"Here," said the girl, panting as she spoke, "if I give you a hundred pounds now, will you give me a week or ten days longer to pay the remainder?"

"I will give you six weeks exactly, Miss Hepworth," replied the dressmaker.

"Six weeks!" gasped Kitty. It seemed like a lifetime. She might be married by then. Who knew what might take place long before six weeks were out? "Yes, yes, that is all right," she said.

She took the little purse out of her pocket; it bore her own initials. Madame was not for a single moment surprised at seeing it. Kitty tumbled the contents on the table.

"There," she said again. "There are one hundred pounds. Count them."

The dressmaker bent over the notes and gold. She counted hastily.

"One hundred pounds and five shillings," she said.

She pushed the five shillings back to Kitty.

"No; keep it as a present," said the girl restlessly.

"Certainly not, miss," replied madame, with dignity.

She made out a receipt for Kitty and handed it to her. Kitty picked up the empty purse and left the room.

When she was gone, madame was about to put the notes and gold into a safe place in her writing table, when she was attracted by a little piece of paper which had fallen on the floor. She took it up, and opened it without having any special reason for doing so. The piece of paper contained nothing but an address: "Katherine Hunt, 24 Child's Gardens, Bayswater."

"Miss Hunt!" thought madame. "How queer! Why, she is one of my customers." For a moment she thought she would tear up the little piece of paper, but on second thoughts she put it into her drawer with the notes and gold. "The next time Miss Hunt comes I must ask her if she knows Miss Hepworth," thought the good woman. "Well, I am glad Miss Hepworth has paid me even that much. And of course, poor little lady, she shall have her dress, and made as nicely as I can make it."

CHAPTER IX.

KATHERINE HUNT

In the course of that same morning a bright-looking, dark-eyed girl appeared in Madame Dupuys' showrooms. She asked to see madame herself. Madame came out. She gave a start when she saw that the girl who wished to see her was Miss Hunt.

"I have come to order a dress," said Miss Hunt. "I want it to be pretty – as pretty as possible. I have, just at the eleventh hour, had an invitation to go to the great fancy ball at Goring. I am determined to go; the ball is the event of the season, and I would not miss it for the world. I have been all morning going from place to place, and have just time to visit you. What can you give me? Money no object. I shall require the very prettiest dress you can conceive and execute, that is all."

Miss Hunt dropped into a seat as she spoke. She had a taking way and a bright manner. She was one of madame's very best customers. Not only was she extravagant, but she was open-handed. She was a very rich girl – the daughter of a millionaire. She always paid ready cash for her clothes. Had Kitty come to demand a dress on such short notice, madame would have negatived the possibility immediately; but with Miss Hunt it was different. If madame could not supply Miss Hunt with a dress, the latter had it in her power to visit one of the most expensive shops in Bond Street, and get what she required at double the money. Money was little or no object to Miss Hunt. She tapped the floor lightly now with her parasol, and looked with expectant eyes at madame.

"Something recherché," she said, "and at the same time a little outré– something that will attract attention."

"I wonder what she is thinking of?" thought madame. "And does she know yet that she has lost her purse, and that that purse contained one hundred pounds? But why should I think she has lost it? Surely Miss Hepworth would not pay me with another person's money! The mere coincidence of Miss Hunt's address being in the purse means nothing – nothing at all."

"You ask me rather a difficult question, Miss Hunt," she said then. "This is Thursday; the ball is on Monday. I am at my wits' end, as it is, to supply a dress to Miss Katherine Hepworth. Do you know Miss Hepworth, Miss Hunt?"

"No – never heard of her," said Katherine Hunt, yawning as she spoke. "Now, my dear, good creature," she continued, rising, "will you give me a dress? Yes, or no."

"I shall do my utmost to accommodate you, Miss Hunt; but it is only at the risk of offending other customers."

"I will pay you anything in reason," said the girl. "I am so delighted to get this invitation that I shall not rest unless I am one of the stars of the evening. Understand that money is no matter. And now, what can you do for me?"

Madame left the room, returning again with fashion-books and yards of brocade, velvet, and other rich materials. Katherine Hunt became absorbed in the vital question of what she was to wear. She was a girl with a great deal of directness of manner; she always knew her own mind, and on this occasion was not long in making her selection. As the ball was to be a fancy one, she would appear as Anne Boleyn. Madame applauded the idea, saying that the dress would suit the stately figure and bold, bright eyes of the young lady.

"It must be done absolutely correctly," said the girl. "I wish you would send round to Fortescue's now for a book of costumes of the time of Henry the Eighth. I know he happens to have them. I will wait until it comes. We must decide all the particulars immediately."

Madame rang her bell, and an attendant entered the room.

"Will you pay for the book?" she said, turning to the girl.

"Oh yes, certainly." And then Miss Hunt dived her hand into her pocket to fetch out her purse.

Madame looked at her with intense curiosity. The pupils of her own eyes dilated when Katherine Hunt took out a pocket-handkerchief, shook it, and then gazed up at madame with an expression of despair.

"My purse is gone!" she said. "Some one must have stolen it! I went to the bank only this morning, and got a hundred pounds in gold and notes. There were several things I wanted to buy – in especial a wedding present for a friend of mine. The purse is gone! What can be the matter?"

Madame sympathized, but held her own counsel. Miss Hunt looked worried. Rich as she was, the loss of a hundred pounds was rather serious.

"Who can be the thief?" she said. "I remember now: I was in a hansom driving to Bond Street. I took out my purse and handkerchief. I must have left the purse on the seat, or perhaps it tumbled to the floor. Yes, I remember the number of the hansom. I took the number. It is funny that I should have done so, but I did. I can repeat it to you – 22,461. If the man found the purse, he will, of course, take it to Scotland Yard."

"Of course, Miss Hunt," replied madame. "But, on the other hand, a dishonest person may have got into the hansom and taken the purse."

"Oh, not likely, not at all likely," said Miss Hunt, in a careless tone. Then she said, turning to the messenger, "Will you pay for the book, please? I will wait until it comes back. – Dishonest people don't often ride in those nice sort of hansoms," she continued. "It had rubber tyres, I remember quite well. Yes, and the number was 22,461. I will drive from here to Scotland Yard. I do hope I shall get back my purse. I was so fond of it too."

"Had your purse silver initials on the outside?" asked madame suddenly.

"Yes, my own initials, 'K.H.' Why do you ask?"

"And was it a Russian leather one?"

"It was; and oh, such a darling purse! It was given to me by one of my cousins a week ago. But have you seen it? How strange!"

"I must have seen it with you," said madame, "when last you called."

"That is impossible. I have not been here for three weeks, and my darling new purse has been one of my pet toys for only a week."

"Then I must have dreamt about it," said madame carelessly. "It is well, Miss Hunt, that you are a rich young lady: you can afford to lose even a hundred pounds."

"Indeed I can't; no one can. And daddy will be so angry. If he is a millionaire, he works hard for his wealth. He will hate to think that I was so careless. But now let us talk about the dress. When shall I be able to have it?"

The conversation became quite dressmakery. The messenger soon returned with the book of costumes, and madame and the girl bent over the pages, criticising, suggesting alterations, and finally making up their minds. The dress was ordered, and Miss Hunt, with a laugh, said that she would desire her hansom-driver to take her to Scotland Yard at once.

"If I get back my pretty purse with my initials, I will let you know," she said, with a nod. And then she went out of the room.

After she was gone madame stood for some time and thought. She was not a hard-hearted woman, and she was sorry for Katherine Hepworth.

"There is not the slightest doubt what has happened," thought madame. "That poor little lady was sorely tempted; she yielded to temptation. The hundred pounds in notes and gold which I have locked away in my writing-table is stolen money. What is to be done? I cannot for a moment allow this thing to go on. I must see Mrs. Keith. I am sorry for Miss Hepworth; but if I passed over a matter of this kind, I should consider myself terribly to blame."

Busy as she was, madame, soon after lunch that day, went out. She took a hansom and drove to the house in Maida Vale. When the servant opened the door, she asked for Mrs. Keith. The woman told her that Mrs. Keith was out, and would not be back until the evening. Madame uttered a sigh of disappointment, and had scarcely done so before a tall, well-set-up young man crossed the hall. Madame had often heard of Captain Keith, and guessed that it was he. He might do as well as his mother, and save her having a second journey – a waste of time which she could ill afford.

"Perhaps Captain Keith is in," she said suddenly.

The young man paused at the sound of his name and turned round.

"I am Captain Keith," he said, coming forward courteously. "Can I do anything to help you?"

"You certainly can help me, sir, if you will," replied madame.

"Then come into the library," said Keith. He ushered the dressmaker in and closed the door behind them.

"I am Madame Dupuys," she said at once. "Perhaps you have heard my name, sir? I am a well-known dressmaker; I live in Bond Street."

"You make dresses for Miss Hepworth," he said, with a smile. "She was telling me only this morning that she was going to see you. She was anxious about a dress she is to wear on Monday night."

"Miss Hepworth is going to the fancy ball at Goring as the Silver Queen," said madame.

Keith was silent for a moment; then he said, —

"Well, and what can I do for you?"

Madame looked full at him. Should she tell him, or should she be silent? Just for a moment she thought that she would reserve her information for the young man's mother; but on second thoughts the memory of her wasted time and the sorry trick which she considered Miss Hepworth had played upon her aroused her indignation. She spoke impulsively.

"I wished to see your mother, Captain Keith, on a matter of great privacy."

"Indeed! Then I cannot help you?"

"Yes, and no, sir. I am very much troubled about a matter which occurred to-day."

"If it is a worry, I would rather you did not tell my mother now."

"Why so, sir?"

"Because she has other things to trouble her: my regiment is ordered south next week."

"I am sorry and yet glad, sir, to know that you are going to help to protect your country." Madame half rose, then sat down again. "I ought to tell some one," she said, as if questioning herself.

"Perhaps I shall do," replied Keith, smiling, and trying to control his impatience.

"What I have to say, Captain Keith, is in absolute confidence."

"I understand."

"It has to do with Miss Hepworth."

"Miss Hepworth!" cried Keith. He coloured, and an uneasy sensation visited him. "Then perhaps I had best not hear it," he said.

"Either you or your mother must hear it, sir; and as you are willing to listen to my confidence, I will give it to you. The fact is, I have been placed in a most awkward position. I asked Miss Hepworth to call on me this morning. She came. She owes me money."

Keith made no remark, but waited for madame to proceed. He did not suppose that Kitty had large private funds at present, and a sum of ten pounds or so owed to a dressmaker did not seem to him a heinous offence.

"Perhaps I can accommodate you with a cheque," he said. After all, the woman's story was scarcely worth taking up his time with.

"It is possible that you can do so, Captain Keith; but the matter I have to speak about means more than a mere cheque. Miss Hepworth has owed me money for a long time, and to-day I asked her for a cheque. She said it was out of her power to give it to me. I asked for a cheque for a large sum. When she refused to accommodate me, I told her that I could not let her have the dress she had ordered for the ball."

Keith did not reply. A vision rose before his eyes of the pretty face of his cousin – her sparkling eyes, her tender mouth. She always dressed well, and she would look, as she herself expressed it, like a vision on this occasion.

"I should not like Miss Hepworth to be disappointed," he said slowly.

"The thing is graver than just a mere disappointment, sir. Miss Hepworth could not accommodate me, and I was firm; she left my house very angry and troubled. She returned within an hour, and said she would pay me then a hundred pounds in cash."

"A hundred pounds!" cried Keith, thoroughly roused at last. "You don't mean to tell me that Miss Hepworth owes you more than that?"

"Considerably more, sir. She said she had it in her power to pay me there and then a hundred pounds; and although I had asked for a hundred and fifty, I promised to be satisfied with what she gave me, and I gave her six weeks' grace for the remainder. I also said she should have the new dress. She took a purse out of her pocket – a Russian leather purse, marked with initials in silver, 'K.H.' She opened it, and took from it a hundred pounds in notes and gold. I gave her a receipt, and she left the house. I was about to put the money into my writing-table drawer until I could take it to the bank, when I observed a piece of paper which had fallen on the floor. I took it up, opened it, and read the address of a lady who is also a customer of mine. The lady's name was Miss Katherine Hunt, and her address, 24 Child's Gardens, Bayswater. I thought this a little strange, and instead of tearing up the paper, put it with the notes and gold in my drawer. In less than an hour Miss Hunt arrived. She was also going to the fancy ball, and she wished for a fancy dress immediately. She is a very rich young lady. Her father is a millionaire. He is the well-known David Hunt, who has made his fortune with the new sort of free wheel.

"Miss Hunt always pays me in cash for everything she gets. You will naturally understand, sir, that a hard-worked woman would be glad to oblige such a customer. She proceeded to order her dress, and finally put her hand into her pocket to pay for a book of costumes which she required. She could not find her purse. She then explained to me that she had gone to her bank that morning and had drawn a hundred pounds in notes and gold. She concluded that she must have left her purse in a hansom. Strange to say, she remembered the number of the hansom, and when she left me, went to Scotland Yard to report on her loss, and if the purse had not been returned there, to get the authorities to look up the driver. I got Miss Hunt to describe her purse, and it tallied in every particular with the purse which Miss Hepworth held in her hand when she gave me the hundred pounds. Now, sir, that is the story. I leave you to draw your own conclusions. I do not wish to be the recipient of stolen goods, and I cannot allow the driver whose number was 22,461 to get into trouble on account of the matter."

Keith's face had turned very white. After a time he crossed the room. He and his mother always used the same library for writing in. He took his keys from his pocket, unlocked an inlaid secretaire, and produced a cheque book. He filled in a cheque for a hundred pounds and gave it to madame.

"Will you take this in lieu of the other?" he said. "And will you let me have the notes and gold? I trust your suspicions are wrong. In any case, I am obliged to you for not making the matter public."

"Will you tell Mrs. Keith, sir?"

"I have not yet decided what I will do. Try to forget the circumstance. You are not likely to have anything further to do with it. This is my affair."

"Certainly, sir. I am sure Miss Hepworth ought to be very much obliged."

Keith thought for a moment.

"What is the exact amount she owes you?" he asked.

"Three hundred pounds, sir."

"I will give you another cheque for two hundred pounds; I do not wish Miss Hepworth to be any longer in your debt. And will you kindly, when you send her dress home, let me have the bill. You will not be surprised at my acting in this prompt manner when I tell you that Miss Hepworth is about to become my wife."

"Oh, indeed, sir!" Madame Dupuys dimpled all over her face. She had not expected to get her troublesome debt cleared so nicely. "I hope, sir," she said, "that you will not be hard upon the dear young lady. I regret very much that I should have subjected her to such a temptation."

"Here are your cheques," said Keith, by way of response. "You will kindly give me a receipt in full."

CHAPTER X.

YOU TALK IN RIDDLES

Madame did give a receipt in full, and soon afterwards left the house. Before doing so, she had promised Keith that the hundred pounds in gold and notes should be forwarded to him by special messenger within an hour.

Keith had not intended to remain in to lunch, but he did not go out. Neither, however, did he appear in the dining-room.

Kitty, restless, with fear now dogging her footsteps, came in. Mrs. Keith was out, and was not expected to return for the day. She inquired of the servant if Captain Keith were within.

"Yes, miss," replied the girl; "the captain is in his study."

"Will you tell him that lunch is ready?" said Kitty.

The maid withdrew to give the necessary information. She came back in a moment or two to say that Captain Keith did not require lunch.

Kitty pouted. She sat down with but a sorry appetite. She ate very little. When her slight meal was concluded, she ran across the passage and tapped with her knuckles at the door of the study.

"It's me, Gavon," she called out. "May I come in?"

"Not now, Katherine," he replied, without opening the door. "I am particularly engaged."

She pouted once more and walked across the hall. She went slowly, very slowly, upstairs to her own room.

"Such an opportunity, and to miss it!" she thought. "I should have had him all to myself; no troublesome Mollie to distract his thoughts, and no Aunt Louisa to watch us both, as I have always seen her do lately. Why did he not lunch with me, and why did he refuse me admittance to his study? I suppose it is all too patent a fact that he does not care for me. I am one of those miserable girls who give their heart unsought, who give their love unasked for. I have read about such girls, and oh, how I have scorned them, little thinking that I should be one of them! The question now is this – Is the case hopeless? Will the fancy ball at Goring open Gavon's eyes? Will he see then that I, his cousin Kitty, possess a heart all on fire with love to him? If he sees me as I shall look that night, will he still prefer the cold, statuesque beauty of Mollie to my living, loving human heart? O Gavon, you cannot do so! When a girl gives up everything for you, you cannot reject her! O Gavon, if you do, my heart will break. I cannot live without you, my darling."

Struggling with her emotion, thinking hardly at all of the grave sin which she had committed, Kitty sat down by her open window.

"He is going away so soon," she thought. "He may never return. I cannot live without him. If he goes I will go too. Yes, I must. I will follow him somehow, in some fashion. How sorry I am now that I did not take up the profession which makes it possible for Mollie to be near him in his hour of danger!"

The large room which Kitty and Mollie occupied was situated in the front of the house, and just then Kitty heard a slight noise below. She ran to the window, opened it, and put out her head. She saw Captain Keith run down the steps of the house and walk rapidly up the street. There was purpose in his walk, and there was also a slight droop of his head, as though something perplexed and troubled him.