Read Ebook: Angel Unawares: A Story of Christmas Eve by Williamson A M Alice Muriel Williamson C N Charles Norris

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Ebook has 146 lines and 244073 words, and 3 pages

"Lighted and decorated!" Suze echoed, with a laugh that came trembling out of tears.

"Yes," insisted Paul, "trust me. Your husband isn't an artist for nothing! Come along. No more time for repining if the tree's to be ready before the children's bedtime. I tell you, it will be a great work!"

Without a word, the man picked up the miniature pine-tree and, shouldering it, limped off almost at a run. At the same instant the woman went down on her knees and began once more to drape the gray bagging over the flower-bed, as if nothing had happened to interrupt her task.

"Here I am, by the palm-grove. Come and help me cover the flowers!" she cried, almost cheerily, in answer to a child shouting "Maman! Maman!"

At the silver sound of the little voice, the kitten in Angel Odel's lap stiffened itself for a spring. Mechanically her hands tightened on the ball of fluff, but it wriggled free, and, with a jump, landed clear of the palm, on the grass beyond. Small as it was, the little animal left the fronds rustling in its wake, and the woman on her knees, looking up with a start, caught a glimpse of something gray under the tree. Two pinafored children, emerging from a side-path, caught the same glimpse, and as the younger snatched up the kitten the elder took a step forward and parted the long green plumes of the agitated palm.

Without answering, the woman got up from her knees. Flushed with embarrassment, she peeped over her daughter's golden head. The younger girl peeped, also, hanging shyly to her mother's dress. It was a horrid moment for Angel Odell.

"Perhaps," agreed Suze senior, doubtfully. And her eyes challenged the stranger. "Who are you, really? Where do you come from?"

"Oh mother!" breathed both children together, their eyes round with awe. "An angel and a fairy."

"And I'm lost," the wonderful visitor hurried on, heading off an answer from mother. "I don't know where I live."

"She doesn't know where she lives," murmured Suze and Paulette, in chorus. "Then she can stay always and live with us, can't she?"

"But do fairies have mothers?" Paulette wanted to know.

"Or angels?" added Suze. "I always thought they hadn't."

"She lives in America," the two children repeated to their mother. "That's not fairyland or heaven, is it?"

"Fairyland can be anywhere, your father says," Suze senior answered. "But see, it's going to be twilight soon! I think we must try to find out where Angel Odell lives, and take her home. She says she's lost--so her mother will be anxious."

"She thinks I'm with my governess," said Angel.

"I like my governess," she explained. "She's very pretty and she's engaged to a soldier. That's why I'm lost. Because she met him by the sea, instead of his being dead as she thought, so she forgot to watch me. I was going home alone when I saw your garden gate open, and it looked just like fairyland. If you please, I wish you would find where I live. It's a--hotel, and it has a garden, too, but not like this."

Suze senior set her wits to work. She knew that, in those days of war, not many hotels were open in Mentone. She questioned Angel, and, learning that the hotel garden was high above the sea, with glass screens to keep off the wind and a view where you saw the town all piled together on the side of a hill with dark, tall trees on top, she guessed the Bellevue.

"We'll all three put on our hats and cloaks, and take you back to your mother," she said, with the thought in her mind, perhaps, that Paul would be glad of the children's absence while he did his part of the tree-dressing. "Suze and Paulette will leave you the kitten to play with, and you won't mind being alone here again for a few minutes, while we get ready?"

Even if Angel had minded, now that a blue veil of twilight was dropping over the garden, she would have said "No," bravely, to wipe off ever so little, if she could, of the stain of eavesdropping. But suddenly, when the children's mother asked that question, and she realized that she would have the place to herself, the most wonderful idea came into her head, straight and direct as a bee flies into an open flower. She happened at the moment to be putting on her mittens preparatory to a start, when a glint of her mother's diamond flashed up from her plump little thumb to her eyes. The flash was an inspiration. When the children and their mother were out of the way she would pull off her hair-ribbon and tie the ring to the kitten's neck. Then, when they had taken her home and come back, Suze and Paulette would find the ring and think it the magic gift of a fairy, because no ordinary little girl could have a gorgeous diamond like that to give away.

No sooner had Suze senior and her two children turned their backs than Angel proceeded hurriedly to carry out her idea. The kitten, unused to being personally decorated at Christmas or any other time, resisted the ribbon with some determination. But Angel was even more determined, and, as in war, size counted. Before the trio returned, ready for their walk, the bow had been tied and the victim had dashed angrily away. This vanishing act suited Angel precisely, for the bright blue of the ribbon was conspicuous on the white fur, even in twilight, and to have the fairy's legacy discovered in the fairy's presence would have been premature. In fact, it would have spoiled everything, and Angel encouraged the animal's exit with a suppressed "Scat!"

The first hotel they tried was the right one. Angel knew it by the gate. But it was rather a long walk to get there, and Suze senior-- who told Angel that she was "Madame Valois"--shyly refused the little girl's insistent plea to "come in and meet mother."

"I must take the children back to their supper," she explained. "Already it's getting dark, and--it's Christmas Eve, you know. I hope your mother won't have had time to worry. Tell her we brought you home as soon as--as you were found."

"Here she is, Mademoiselle! Now everything is all right!" he exclaimed, as joyously as though great news had come from the front. And out from the group tottered Mademoiselle Rose, to precipitate herself upon the child and drench her velvet hood with a waterspout of tears.

"I do not know yet, Madame," the governess apologized, getting to her feet and wiping her eyes with the drier of two damp handkerchiefs. "The blessed one has but just come in, when I was about to go out once more and search. There has been no time to hear, but, praise, le bon Dieu, she is at least safe and unhurt."

Elinor Odell adored her child, not knowing for certain which she loved better than the other, if either--Dick, her husband, or his daughter and hers. She was warm-hearted, and deep-hearted, too; but circumstances had very early in her life of twenty-eight years developed the practical side of her nature. She had learned how to control herself and to control others. Also she was quick--perhaps too quick--in forming conclusions. Had she not grown up as the only child of a widowed millionaire, she might have been just the beautiful, intelligent, emotional girl she looked, and nothing more; but to her father she owed much besides money and position; she owed many qualities. One of them was a slight surface hardness, like a cooling crust over boiling lava. She realized instantly that, no matter what the "Angel-Imp's" adventure had been, there was no longer any need to worry about the child. She took in that fact, and even as she mentally gave thanks for it she took in something else also. Persons in a garden whither Angel had strayed or been invited had apparently persuaded the innocent and impulsive little girl to give away a valuable diamond ring. Prejudice instantly built up within Elinor a barrier against some one unknown. She didn't mean to reproach Angel, but she did mean to catechize her, and she intended to get back her father's last year's Christmas present.

"All's well that ends well," she quoted, with the radiant smile which had helped to give Elinor Holroyd the reputation of a beauty. "Come, Angel, come Mademoiselle, let's go up to our own rooms and tell one another everything." Then, when the governess and child had been started off in advance, she paused for whispered instructions concerning the bundles. They contained the Christmas presents which she had gone out to buy for Angel, but, luckily, the little girl was too excited to notice and wonder inconveniently. She wasn't even thinking of the gifts from her grandfather in America, which she confidently expected.

"Now, my Angel-Imp, tell me all about it," began Elinor, when the lights were switched on in the sitting-room. "Or will you wait until we've taken off your hat and coat?"

But the child was not in the mood to wait for an earthquake. She began pouring forth her story, aided and supplemented, at first, by Mademoiselle, who found it necessary to explain Claude. After alternately blaming and defending her absent-mindedness, however, the word passed from Rose to Angel, who was quick to seize the advantage. She alone knew the whole story, so she alone could tell how she had wanted to go home; how she hadn't liked to bother Mademoiselle; how she had got lost, and how, just then, she had found herself at the gate of the "fairy garden."

"How do you know they didn't see you?" inquired Elinor, judicially.

"Because if they had they wouldn't have talked, with me listening," Angel carefully made clear to the slow comprehension of a grown-up.

"I'm not so sure," murmured the grownup. She did not speak the words aloud, because she wished her Angel-Imp to go on believing, as long as she might, that human nature was all good. It occurred to her that a tree must have abnormally thick branches, if a child in a pearl-gray velvet hood and coat trimmed with glistening chinchilla were to remain invisible throughout a long and intimate conversation. It occurred to her, also, that the velvet and chinchilla simply shouted "Money!" People were extraordinarily subtle, sometimes, when they had an object to gain, as she had learned in her girlhood through sad experience. She, too, had had faith in everybody when she was Angel's age, and even years older, but her father had thought it best that for self-protection she should be enlightened early. She did not quite believe in Angel's fairies of the fairy garden. The story, even as the child told it, had discrepancies.

"I fancy, darling," Elinor suggested, "that your new friends can't be so dreadfully poor as they made you think. You see, if they were, they'd have no money to spend on a Christmas tree--"

"It was growing on a mountain," Angel defended her friends.

She stopped short, because she did not wish the child--so young, so sweet, so warmhearted--to be disillusioned. The thought in her mind, however, was that Monsieur Valois and his English wife might not have been so eager to tell their name had they learned in time about the diamond ring. They might not have made it so easy to find them in their fairy garden as it was now! But even though their name was known, it would be difficult to get back the ring, unless she--Elinor Odell--chose to take strenuous measures. It would be so simple for these people to say, when inquiries were made about the ring, and a sum of money offered in its place, that they had never seen it; that some one outside must have noticed the glittering thing tied to the cat's neck, and stolen it. That, she thought, was almost certain to be the excuse they would make; and her heart, which could be warm and generous as Angel's, hardened toward the people of the garden.

"I suppose, unless I want a horrid fuss, I shall have to give up the ring for lost, or else offer nearly the full value as a bribe," she said to herself.

Nevertheless, she rang, and bade a waiter ask the manager of the hotel to step to her sitting-room for a moment. Meanwhile, until he should come, she glanced at the letters. There were many, and among them was one addressed to "Miss Angela Odell. To be opened by herself," in Cyrus Holroyd's handwriting. But before it could be passed to its owner a knock announced the manager of the hotel.

He was delighted to hear that the missing little one was safe, and listened politely to Mrs. Odell's questions concerning the Valois family. At first the name suggested nothing, but when he learned that the man was "a gardener, or horticulturist, or something," he remembered. Ah yes, to be sure! There was such a person, a Belgian refugee, but with money, it would appear, for he had bought property from a Swiss who had lived for some years in Mentone. Not a property of great value, no. And it was said that the Swiss-- Siegel his name was--had let his business decline. After selling it he had gone away at once. No one knew much about Valois except that he had an English Wife, a good-looking young woman, who had visited all the hotels earlier in the season, trying to get work as a teacher of her own language, or as a seamstress. That would look as if Valois had found the business profit disappointing. But then, there was nothing for any one in these days. The only thing to do was to hold on.

"A young man who wishes to speak for a moment with Madame," announced a waiter at the door, and presented a bit of pasteboard. It was a business card, on which was printed--not engraved--in large, plain letters, "Paul Valois, Horticulturist."

So, after all, he had come! But, no doubt, only to try and get money.

"Mademoiselle, will you go with Angel to her room and take off her hat and coat?" Elinor hastily cleared the field for action.

"Oh, here's a letter from her grandfather, in New York. You may read it to her. And presently I will call her in to tell me what he says."

The tall French girl whisked away the small American child. The door was shut between the two rooms, and at the outer one, leading into the corridor, a tap sounded.

"Come in!" cried Elinor, clothing herself with dignity. But it was not Paul Valois, horticulturist, who entered. It was Mrs. Odell's own Irish-American maid, with an immense parcel.

"It comes from Paris, and it's for little Miss Angel," she said, leaving the door open. "Oh, Madame, it's sure to be that wonderful doll we talked of."

Then, just in time to catch these words--appropriate words for Christmas Eve--a tall, thin young man appeared on the threshold. His hat was in his hand, and the scar of a wound still showed red on his forehead. Though the night was cold, and Elinor Odell had been glad of her sables, he wore no overcoat. His clothes looked more suitable for summer than for winter, even in the south of France, and she wondered if it were a trick to catch her sympathy. She could not help thinking that he had a good, brave face, not the face of a trickster; but she deliberately put herself in the judgment seat. It would take more than a pair of fine eyes and a broad forehead with a soldier's scar, to charm her out of it!

"Good evening," she greeted him pleasantly, in French. "It was you, I think, who kindly sent your wife here with my little lost girl this evening. I'm glad to be able to thank you both for what you did." Designedly she let the man have a "lead," and waited curiously to see what use he would make of it.

He did not keep her long in suspense. "Oh, Madame, we did nothing at all," he replied, giving his case away unexpectedly. "My children thought your little girl must be a fairy. You see, my wife tells them wonderful stories. She comes from a county in England where they still believe in the 'wee folk'--Devonshire. Perhaps you've been there? It was a great joy to them to have the visit, and the walk was a pleasure. We are all glad if you have been spared anxiety; but I fear you must have been anxious about another loss. It is for that reason I have hurried here, on a bicycle borrowed from our nearest neighbor. The little lady amused herself tying a ribbon and a beautiful ring to the neck of my children's pet, a white kitten given by that same neighbor who lent the bicycle. Then she must have forgotten to take it off. It was only a few minutes ago that my Paulette found the ring, when she came home. I have brought it to you."

"How good of you to take so much trouble!" exclaimed Elinor. But something inside her whispered, "He thought it would be safer to claim the regard than to keep the diamond."

The Belgian took from his pocket a clean handkerchief with a knot tied in the corner, and from the knot produced the ring.

"La voil?, Madame," he said, simply, as he laid the shining thing on the letter-strewn table. "And now I will not disturb you longer. Permit me to wish for you and the little fairy who visited us a happy Christmas."

So he was leaving the reward to her generosity! Wasn't that rather clever of him?

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