THE BLUE CORNUCOPIA

New Zealand Tablet, 27 March 1913, Page 9

THE BLUE CORNUCOPIA

Cecilia Wade was very fond of her Aunt Jane, being a sweet-natured creature, and apt to be disproportionately grateful for kindnesses small or great. Seeing that she had had it drummed into her from babyhood that her aunt was her best friend, having done more for her than could be expected in giving her food and shelter from the world, she might well believe it. Her father, Robert Wade, had broken the hearts of all his family, according to Miss Jane Wade, by marrying a little French governess whom he had met accidentally on the Dover and Calais boat. Other people might have thought that Miss Wade owed something to Cecilia for youth chained *to her sofa and tender service most willingly rendered. But that point of view had not occurred to Miss Wade; nor to Cecilia, for the matter of that. Cecilia acted as an unpaid nurse and maid to her Aunt Jane, read to her, wrote her letters, did her shopping and paid her bills, superintended the gardener, looked after the cats and dogs and the canaryin fact, did a hundred things, and had in return just food and shelter, the clothes she stood up in, and the tiniest allowance of pocket money. A good many people would have been glad to be kind to Cecilia, who was a charming girl to look tall, slender, with brown eyes at once gentle and vivacious, a fine, colorless skin, a delightful smile, and the French politeness. The latter was something Aunt Jane never approved of in her niece. Cecilia had few people to show politeness to beyond the servants and the tradespeople, with whom Miss Wade thought her niece's manners sadly out of place. Miss Wade did not welcome casual acquaintances, she said. She had her own old friends—not one under seventy years of age. Living in London, she was not troubled by callers. When any acquaintance was offered to her she rejected it. What did she want with new people at her time of life? She never thought of Cecilia. Cecilia was quite well aware, and had not grumbled over it, that Miss Wade's money had been spent in the purchase of an annuity, so that when the old lady was gone there would be no provision for her. To do Miss Wade justice; the money had been so invested before Cecilia had come to hera little black-clad, white-faced orphan of seven. It had not seemed to

trouble her that death would leave the girl unprovided for, beyond what her furniture and jewels and lace and other possessions might bring. She Had not thought to cut down any expensesto do without a carriage, for instance, as she might well have done in a London square. She would* have said that she was ,Admiral. Wade's daughter, and that she owed it to her "father's memory to live in the way he had accustomed her to live. If Robert had wasted his substance in riotous living instead of providing for his daughter that was not to be laid at his sister's door. In her own estimation she had done more than anyone could have expected of her when she took in the orphan child and gave her a home. So far Miss Jane Wade in the days of health. She was a very strong old lady, who had seldom suffered ache or pain, and was intolerant of such weaknesses in others. She had such a tradition of health that people who knew her were accustomed to say that she would die, as she had lived, unacquainted or with the barest nodding acquaintance with pain. But, quite suddenly as it seemed, Miss Wade's age began to find her out. It was a long time before she would call in a doctor, looking on the suggestion when it was first made to her in the light of an affront. But presently pain and weakness made her more amenable. Like most people who have had a long period of health and strength, when she failed she failed rapidly. With illness her nature seemed to alter. She grew amazingly gentle and considerate as she became dependent. For the first time in those days of illness Miss Wade became lovable. Cecilia, whose love fed on very little, like the plants that gain life and health in the interstices of rocks, would have always said and believed that she loved Aunt Jane. Now at last it was possible really to love her; and that was a compensation to Cecilia's kind heart for the sorrow it was to see the strong, self-reliant old woman reduced to the state that she asked humbly for things to be done for her and apologised for the trouble she gave. Cecilia was so touched by this new aspect of Aunt Jane that she could not do enough for her. She was so chained to the sick woman's room all one winter that Dr. Crispin was moved to protest. Cecilia would lose her own health if she did not get exercise and open air. He looked compassionately at the charming face which, of late, had begun to show its age. Cecilia.. was thirty. After a few hours in the open air with the dogs she would have passed for twenty-five. She was such a delightful creature, so gay and gentle and humble and devoted, that Cecilia, looking her thirty years and over, affected Dr. Crispin with an odd sense of vexation and pain. He had given Miss Wade a very gentle hint about her testamentary dispositions as regarded Cecilia. ' Cecilia will have all I have/ Miss Wade had responded; and the doctor was satisfied. He had no idea that all Miss Wade had was her househ&ld furniture and personal effects. Cecilia knew and was satisfied. She would have to work for a living after Aunt Jane was taken from her, which she prayed might not be for a long time yet. She was not uneasy. Aunt Jane had said to her one day, surprisingly, unexpectedly : ' When I am gone, Cecilia, I should not like you to go to Caroline Wells as companion, for Caroline Wells would be a hard task-mistress, harder than I have been. Mary Moir would be glad to have you. To be sure, she is half blind and sits in a darkened room nearly all the year. But she would be very fond of you, and very kind to you; and you are so fond ,of animals that you would not mind being shut up with so many of them.' Cecilia did not protest, had not the faintest temptation to protest. It came, indeed, as a relief to her to think that if the sorrowful time came when~she must do without Aunt Jane she would have someone to turn to. She was fond of Mrs. Moir, who was a gentle old lady. She found it easy to be good to the old, as she did to children and animals. Not a word of complaint, even in her hidden heart of her sacrificed youth, of the dreary outlook for her future. She had already in her own mind written herself down old maid, gaily and gently, with no lurking pity for herself.

Confined to her room, her sofa, presently her bed, Aunt Jane's memories went back to the days of her youth. All the intervening years seemed to ' have dropped out. It was of Ardlewy, the old home of her ckildnood, she talked incessantly. Cecilia, listening and putting in a word now and tiien, came to feel that she knew Ardlewy by heart. To be sure, there were pictures and photographs to assist her. There. were Aunt Jane's woolly water-colors, mainly concerned with the scenes of her youth; Miss Wade had never been a globe-trotter. There were port-folios of pencil drawings, of faded photographs. . The long, white house, with its golden thatch, the green-trellised porch, the drawing-room opening on to the garden, the garden with . its apple-trees, its summer-house and privet-hedges, and box-borders—she seemed to know them all intimately by heart. At another time Miss Wade would have out her Indian shawls, her old lace, her trinkets, and go over them with Cecilia, recalling this and that happy association. ' They will be all yours when I am gone, Cecilia,' she would say; and Cecilia would smile gratefully through her tears, never thinking that she might have had some of them while she was still young. Another time it wtfuld be the china and silver. Miss Wade had some beautiful possessions of that kind. Better send them to Christie's when I am gone. You will need the money,' he said; and having said it she turned her face to the wall and was inconsolable till she forgot. Cecilia heard all about her lovers, her conquests in the olden days—the balls she went to, the bouquets she received. 'The year I came out,' .she said, there were thirty girls going out from Pulteney street. The people said they couldn't sleep for the carriages coming back in the small hours. And it was conceded that I was the prettiest girl of the year.' Cecilia did not smile. The old memories had for her something of the fragrance of pot-pourri. After she had told her old tales several times over, Aunt Jane, in great good humor, had out her fans and presented one to Cecilia heirloom, painted on chicken-skin by Carl Vauloo. ' Keep it as long as you can, Ciss,' she said. She had positively in these latter days given Cecilia a pet name. Cecilia had been Cecilia all through her childhood and girlhood. 'I wish now/ the old woman went on, 'that I had been more carefulfor your sake, child. I wish I could have left you this house and enough to keep it going, that my pretty things need not be sold. I'm afraid I've been a selfish old woman, Ciss.' Cecilia kissed her, protesting that her aunt had always been all goodness to her; and the old lady fell asleep smiling. She awoke talking of the blue cornucopia, as though she had remembered it in sleep. Cecilia knew one blue cornucopia, a piece of her aunt's rather fine collection of Nankin. Now it seemed that the blue cornucopia had once had a fellow. Somehow it had disappeared. To the old mind it seemed that the absence of the second cornucopia spoilt the collection. ' A great number of things were scattered and given away when my mother died/ she said. 'I wonder who could have had the blue cornucopia.' She fretted over it all the afternoon. She could not sleep for thinking of the possible persons who might have had it. Searching back over fifty years for a vanished piece of china seemed a somewhat hopeless task. It appeared that the cornucopia had certain indentations not common in Nankin. The old lady remembered it over the fifty, years as though it had been yesterday. The missing cornucopia had had a chip out of the top of it. It was Miss Wade's brother Cyril, who had died in childhood, who was responsible for that chip. She had a bad night worrying over the cornucopia. The pair were absolutely unique. Her mother had always said that there was nothing like them in the great collections. What folly it was to have separated them! [: -■■..'.-.- v -/. . For two or three days she fretted over the missing

cornucopia, and was worse in consequence. The third night she awakened Cecilia, who slept on an uncomfortable chair-bed in the corner of the room/ -;; 'I believe, after all,' she said, ' that the blue cornucopia must have gone to old Lady Stukeley. She was a great friend- of my mother's. They lived at Knoll House, Eldingham, Hants. Such a dear old house, my dear. I have lost sight of them. Lady Stukeley died abroad.' 'Knoll House, Edingham, Hampshire.' ~. Cecilia went to the writing-table and put down the address. She was very sleepy. In the morning she might have forgotten all about it. ; "« She tucked in Miss Wade carefully and tenderly. Go to sleep now,' she said. I'm glad you have remembered the address. Don't think any more about the blue cornucopia. lam going to get it for you.' Miss Wade slept till quite . late in the morning. The sun was in the room and the sparrows chattering outside. Pratt, Miss Wade's maid, was knocking at the door with Cecilia's morning cup of tea when she awakened. Miss Wade seemed much better, was in a placid mood, and never mentioned the blue cornucopia. But after breakfast, when the old lady had had her toilet made, and was asleep after the exertion, Cecilia sat down and wrote. She was uncertain at first as to how to address the letter. Finally she made up her mind, and addressed it to the representatives of the late Lady Stukeley, Knoll House, Edingham, Hampshire. Then she wrote her letter. She felt the quaintness of. ita request for the restoration of a piece of china given more than fifty years ago. Why, there might be no one to receive it. Lady Stukeley might have left no representatives. However, she made her statement simply. Miss Wade was old, in failing health. She had set her heart on finding the missing cornucopia of the pair. It fretted her and prevented her sleeping. If Lady Stukeley's representatives were still possessed of the cornucopia, and willing to part with it, Miss Wade would be glad to buy it back. After she had posted the letter, without saying anything to her aunt about it, she had a set-back. Miss Wade remembered the cornucopia, though she remembered that it had been broken by a careless maid sixty years ago. So Cecilia's letter had been written in vain. She said to herself that her letter would,- in all probability, be returned to her through the Dead Letter Office. _ A more experienced person than Cecilia would have discovered ways and means of finding out if there were still Stukeleys at Knoll House, Eldingham; or, if not, where the family had gone to. None occurred to Cecilia. If there was no one there to receive the letter it would come back to her through the Dead Letter Office. So she waited. However, three days later, just when Miss Wade had begun to fret for the missing cornucopia, Cecilia was informed that a gentleman wished to see her. He was in the drawing-room, and he had sent up his card : Sir Cuthbert Stukeley. Knoll House, Eldingham ; Travellers' and Naval and Military Club. She went downstairs, a certain feeling of excitement stirring her quiet pulses. At the end of the long drawing-room— Wade lived in a stately Tavistock-square house—a gentleman was standing by the window looking out. He turned about as Cecilia entered. He was tall, dark, with a slightly grizzled head, although he could not have been much more than thirty. He had a kind honest face—at the moment somewhat harassed, •as though from recent trouble. Cecilia noticed that he wore a mourning band on the sleeve of his coat. He smiled, and the smile lit up the sombreness of his face, which, indeed, was not natural to it. He had a curiously-shaped paper parcel in his hand. ' This took some little searching for,' he said, holding it out to her. Plainly it was the cornucopia. Knoll is so full of all manner of things. I am so glad I have got it for you at last. How is Miss Wade?' To her amazement, Cecilia found herself talking

to Sir Cuthbert Stiikeley as though she had known him all her life. While they talked a message came summoning her. to Miss Wade's room. ;She left him with an apology. He did not seem in any great to be gone. ' :\ ; v „, - ■"■^;.'3- •'•-■ - :: She went upstairs, carrying the cornucopia in her hand. As soon as Miss Wade heard about its restoration she was all eagerness to see the young man who must be the son of Peter Stukeley, whom she might have married if she would. Cecilia 1 was to go downstairs and insist on his staying for lunch. Miss Wade must get up. Pratt would help: her to dress/ She felt wonderfully ; well this morning. Cecilia would see that there was a good luncheon, such as a man neededno niggling little dishes, but something substantial -as well as dainty. She was to go down now and invite Sir Cuthbert to stay for lunch, to see his mother's and grandmother's old friend. ; v . J Sir Cuthbert was not unwilling to stay for lunch. He even accompanied Cecilia when she went out to do her marketing. She had explained that she must leave him for that purpose; and he had asked—in a deprecating mannerif he might accompany her. He carried her little basket in which she was to bring back some things the cook could not wait for. Why, what had happened to Cecilia and to the grey London streets? The shops had never looked so gay before. The sun shone goldenly on the pavements, and the trees in the squares showed a mist of green. The people who passed them by in the street no longer seemed haggard and anxious as they had often seemed to Cecilia. They were smiling and happy. The tulips and daffodils in the flower-girls' baskets made vivid splashes of color on the pavements. Cecilia's own heart was irrationally light. She laughed and was merry. She called her new friend into consultation with her over her purchases. There was a gentle and innocent coquetry about her. Cecilia was looking twenty to-day; and as for Cuthbert Stukeley, the shadow had lifted from his face. It was the oddest thing to Cecilia to sit and lunch with Cuthbert Stukeley the other side of the table. Old Stevens, the butler, beamed benevolently upon them. He had brought out a bottle of the best Burgundy for Sir Cuthbert's delectation. He remembered Sir Peter and Sir Anthony before him. It was a dull thing to have come down to a family of two ladies who drank only water. -•' Miss Wade seemed to have taken a new lease of life. That first day Sir Cuthbert Stukeley sat by her sofa upstairs for quite an hour. There were so many things she had to ask and, hear about the family so many memories of them to unpack. Sir Cuthbert's father and mother were both dead; his father long year ago, his mother only recently. That explained the shadow on his face. ' The Stukeleys were always good sons and husbands,' Miss Wade said later. M ought to have married Peter Sukeley. If I had I should have been this young man's mother.' Cuthbert Stukeley was in town for a few weeks. He was unfailingly attentive in his calls at Tavistock square. As though his coming, or the restoration of the blue cornucopia, had given her new life, Miss Wade steadily mended before the end of the week was downstairs, and the doctor talking of a change to seaside or country. Cecilia was delighted. Miss Wade might have been the tenderest person to her all these years to see her delight. To be sure, Miss Wade was changed—the old coldness and selfishness a thing of the past. ' You have been a very good child to me, Ciss,' she said, the day she gave her some of her finest lace. ' I haven't been very good to you. But all that is to be changed. We are going to have some new frocks, Cecilia. Do you know that I have only just discovered how pretty you are? A purblind, selfish old woman.' It was the day she came downstairs. Cecilia ran to her, kissed her, and protested against the lady's really well-deserved description of herself as she had been. They were discussing the change when Sir Cuthbert came in. Should it be Eastbourne or Tunbridge Wells? Cecilia sat at the writing table, her pen poised above the sheet of note-paper. She was going to write

and engage rooms. Easter was coming; and at Easter every place would be lull. . Eastbourne or Tunbridge Wells? Miss Wade favored the Wells; she had had glorious times there long ago. ' What's the. matter with Knoll?' asked Sir Cuthbert, sitting down by the old lady's sofa and taking her hand. 'I assure you that, you and Miss Cecilia would be very comfortable at Knoll. The air is bracing, the country beautiful; we have a very good doctor within easy reach. Think of it.' 'I should love it,' said Miss Wade, with great animation. Why, she had gone back twenty years since the son of her old lover had come to remind her of her youth. 'What do you say, Ciss?' Cecilia in her secret heart was uplifted. It had occurrred to her coldly that she was going to miss Cuthbert Stukeley, to miss him badly. Eastbourne—Tunbridge Wells and Cuthbert Stukeley gone away ! For the first time the youth in her cried.out against the perpetual companionship of old ladies which had fallen to her lot all the days of her life, till it had been broken up by the coming of Cuthbert Stukeley. He took charge of them on the journey as though he had been the son of hers Miss Wade said he ought to have been. It was all wonderful to Cecilia being taken care of, the journey through the country opening to the first delicate green of spring, the drive to Knoll, the arrival at the beautiful old black-and-white house in the midst of its stately -park. There was a significance in their reception by the old servants at Knoll which Cecilia hardly apprehended. The best rooms had been prepared for them. The old house was gay with flowers. Huge fires burnt in all the rooms, for the day had the chilliness of early spring.,. Catching sight of herself as she went to dinner in a mirror at the head of the stairs, Cecilia hardly recognised herself. Was it herself, Cecilia, this radiantlooking young woman in trailing white garments ? This Cecilia who had called herself an old maid, and would have been content to be dowdy if she had not been half French? She found Sir Cuthbert in the drawing-room awaiting her. Her aunt's progress downstairs was still a somewhat lengithy aflair, and she had not yet arrived. He watched her come without going to meet her. She had a sensation of a great many Cecilias, tall and stately, in all the long mirrors with which the room was lined. She felt curiously shya little afraid to look up and meet his eyes. came and stood by him in front of the fire, 'that you never paid me anything for the blue cornucopia. You said you wanted to buy it back?' 'So I did,' said Cecilia, with shy gaiety. She took it for one of his jests. He was full of merriment in these latter days. ' I'm so sorry. How much V 'You, Cecilia!' 'l?' She grew red, and bent her charming head. ' But—but ' she began to stammer. He put his arms about her. ' I never could be worthy of the price, I know,' he whispered. 'But I should be miserable all my life if I did not get it.' Miss Wade appeared at the door, leaning on Pratt's arm. They neither saw nor heard her. With great presence of mind she drew back and closed the door. ' I will so straight' to the dining-room, Pratt,' she said. 'lt will save me another journey.' '• Pratt was too well trained, or perhaps she understood too much, to wonder when the old lady added, with {rreat satisfaction: ' And after all, the blue cornucopias, the pair of them, may come back to Knoll.'-— Montreal Tribune.