Black Sheep

This was perhaps fortunate, for no opportunity was offered her to partake of this or any other dish. Selina's sobs were the prelude to one of her dreaded fits of hysteria, and as this was accompanied by spasms and palpitations it was long before Abby could leave her. When Selina at last fell into an exhausted sleep, the only thing her equally exhausted sister wished for was her bed.

The morning brought confirmation of her suspicion that Lavinia had indeed been tattling. Mrs Grayshott came to Sydney Place to see Abby.

'For I could do no less than tell you, Abby, and beg your pardon! I have never been so vexed with Lavinia! And the worst of it is that she did it on purpose, and is not sorry for it! She told me what she had done the instant she came home yesterday, knowing, of course, that I should be extremely displeased, but saying that she was Fanny's friend, and that she knew she had been right to warn her.'

'Perhaps she was,' said Abby. 'I don't know. I don't think Fanny quite believes it.'

'No, that also Lavinia told me. But Oliver thinks that even if she does not the shock of discovering that it is true will have been lessened for the poor child. But it was not Lavinia's business to have meddled! My dear, how tired you look!'

'I am a little tired,' owned Abby. 'My sister is not quite well today, so . . .'

She left the sentence unfinished, but she had said enough to send Mrs Grayshott back to Edgar Buildings in a state of such seething and impotent indignation that she informed her son, with unusual venom, that the sooner Miss Wendover's numerous ailments carried her off the better it would be for Abby.

Hardly had she left Sydney Place than a sealed letter was delivered at the house. It was directed to Fanny, and brought to her in the drawing-room by Mitton. She took it with a shaking hand, made as if to tear it open, and then, with an inarticulate excuse, went out of the room.

She did not return. Abby, who had guessed that the missive must have been sent by Stacy Calverleigh, waited in growing disquiet for a full hour, and then went up to her room.

Fanny was seated by the window. She looked at Abby, but said nothing, and her face was so stony that Abby hesitated. Then she saw the helpless suffering in Fanny's eyes, and went to her, not speaking, but folding her in her arms, and holding her close. Fanny did not resist, but for perhaps a minute she was as rigid as a statue. Stroking the bright curls, Abby said huskily, as though to a much younger Fanny, who had tumbled down,

and grazed her knees: 'Never mind, my darling, never mind!'

She could have cursed herself for the inadequacy of these foolish words; but a quiver ran through Fanny, a rending sob broke from her, she turned in Abby's arms, and clung to her, torn and shaken by the pent-up emotions of the past fortnight.

It was long before she could be calm again, but gradually the sobs dwindled into pathetic hiccups, and she lay limply in Abby's embrace, her head on Abby's shoulder, and her lashes wet on her cheeks. When Abby would have fetched some water for her to drink, she said brokenly: 'Oh, no! This is so comfortable!' Presently she said: 'You knew, didn't you?'

'I knew, but I haven't known how to tell you.'

'Lavinia told me. I wouldn't believe her. But it was true. It was just my fortune, wasn't it?'

'I am afraid so, darling.'

Another silence fell, before Fanny said: 'I've been very stupid. Wicked, too. I meant to elope with him.'

'I don't suppose you would have done so, however.'

Fanny sighed. 'I don't know. Sometimes I thought I couldn't, but when I was with him –' Her voice failed, and it was a moment or two before she could speak again. 'Then I was ill, and he didn't come, or – or write to me, even when other people came to visit me. I tried to believe it was because he was afraid you might not let him see me, but I think I knew.... Only I went on hoping, and when Lavinia told me about Mrs Clapham I felt at first that it couldn't be true, and then I wasn't quite sure, and then – and then the letter came.' A shudder ran through her. 'Abby, it made me feel sick! Really sick!'

'He told you that he had changed his mind?'

'No. I – I think I could have borne that. People do fall out of love, don't they? If he had told me that he had met someone he liked better than me – But he didn't. I was only a silly schoolgirl before I was ill, but I'm grown-up now, and I shall never be taken-in again.'

Abby was not tempted to smile. She said: 'I hope no one will ever try to take you in again, dearest.'

'No, for I don't feel that I shall ever fall in love again. My uncle saw him yesterday, didn't he? Abby, you didn't send for him, did you?'

'I not only didn't send for him, but I came to cuffs with him before he had been in the house above ten minutes.'

'I thought you could not have done so. Oh, Abby, I beg your pardon! I've been horridly cross and unkind, but I didn't mean it! I love you more than anyone in the world!'

'Then I shall try my very hardest to forgive you!'

A watery chuckle greeted this sally. 'I'm so glad I've got you still. For always, Abby!' She lifted Abby's hand to her cheek, and cuddled it there. 'I love Aunt Selina too, of course, but in a – dutiful way. I couldn't bear to go on living here, if there was only my Aunt Selina.'

Abby heard this with mixed feelings. Though it warmed her heart it also caused it to sink. Miles Calverleigh's image seemed to be drawing farther and farther away.

'I burned the letter,' Fanny said abruptly. 'And the lock of hair. Do you think I might write to tell him so?'

'Oh, I shouldn't do that! Far more dignified to pay no heed to him at all!'