Kitabı oku: «By Birth a Lady», sayfa 10

Volume Two – Chapter Four.
The “Candlestine” Interview

Sir Philip Vining ate his dinner alone that day, for his son was an absentee. In fact, a good half-hour before the appointed time Charley Vining was in Gorse Wood walking up and down, crushing the thin grass and trampling through the undergrowth, as he vainly sought to control the impatience of his spirit.

But he was in no controllable humour, and the more he tried to beat down the feelings that troubled him, the more fretful his spirit grew. It had been a day of misery and disappointment, such as he had never thought to see, and he was bitterly mortified with his own conduct. He told himself that it was his duty to have sternly answered Laura Bray, whereas he had allowed her to go on till, as they parted, her look of intelligence seemed to intimate that she was happy and satisfied, and that he had been making love to her, when —

When? Why should he trouble himself about a light frivolous girl, who gave love tokens to a tailor’s dummy – a contemptible jackanapes? But all the same, there was no reason why he should marry Laura Bray, and give up his happy independent life.

“A fig for all womankind!” said Charley at last, out loud; “but then the poor old gentleman!”

Charley’s face darkened as he thought of his father and his wishes. What should he do? Let matters run their course?

He asked himself that last question rather grimly, as he thought of how easily he could be in accord with all Sir Philip wished. A few quiet tender words to Laura Bray, and all would go on satisfactorily. And why should he not utter them? She would be well content, and he need trouble himself no farther, but seek in his old amusements délassement and balm for the disappointment he had met with.

How plain it all was! Max had come down again on Ella’s account. Why, he had not spent so much time down at Lexville since he was a boy! Of course, the Brays would not sanction it; but, anyhow, it was another of Mr Maximilian Bray’s conquests.

“Ah, well,” said Charley, as he stood leaning against an oak, “it’s the old story: one’s boy love never does come to anything! – What, my little wood-nymph!”

“O, Charley, Charley, Charley!” cried Nelly, running up to him panting, “what shall I do? I am so, so miserable; and they think I’m in the schoolroom now; and I can’t bear it, and I hate it; and I’ve run out through the side gate and over the elm meadow like a mad girl, for they all watch me; and I stay in my bedroom most of the time; for since Miss Bedford’s gone – ”

“What?” roared Charley, seizing Nelly’s arm.

“Don’t frighten me, Charley, and please don’t pinch so! That’s what I wanted to tell you. That Laura led her such a cruel life with her temper, and Max was such a horrible donkey, that she told ma she would rather not stay, and – O, O, O!” sobbed Nelly, crying out aloud, “she’s gone away, and I didn’t say good-bye; for she went early in the morning, and came and kissed me when I was asleep; and me such a thickheaded, stupid old dormouse that I never knew – knew it – or – or I’d have put my arms so tightly round her neck that I’d never have left go.”

“But where has she gone?” cried Charley fiercely.

“I don’t know,” sobbed Nelly – “nobody knows. She would not say a word even to mamma; and mamma said it was very obstinate, and that she was obstinate altogether.”

“Do you think – ” said Charley huskily, and then he stopped as if he could not utter the words – “do you think she told Max?”

“Told Max!” said Nelly, almost laughingly; “no, she wouldn’t tell him. She hated him too much, for he was always worrying her, when all the time she was ever so fond of you, Charley. I knew it, though she never said so. Pah, she would never tell such a donkey as that, when she would not tell me! They think I’m very stupid; but I know well enough why she wouldn’t stay, nor yet say where she was going: it was all because of Max, so that he should not bother her any more.”

“Go on, pray!” exclaimed Charley.

“I have not got anything more to tell you,” said Nelly pitifully, “only that there was such a scene over and over again; for at the last Laury and Max both wanted her to stay, and Laury asked her over and over again; but I could see through that: it was because Max made her, for some reason of his own.”

Here was a new light altogether: Laura and Max both asking her to stay, and the poor girl led such a life that she was compelled to leave. Why had she not confided in him, then, when he had implored her to listen to him? But that ring?

Troubled in spirit, Charley began to stride up and down the wood, but only to stop once more in front of Nelly.

“When did she go?” he asked.

“Yesterday morning,” said Nelly; “but I couldn’t send you word till to-day. And now I want to ask you something, Charley.”

“Quick, then!” he said hoarsely, as he turned to go.

“Will you try and find out where Miss Bedford is gone, and then tell me when you know?”

“Yes, yes!” cried Charley, rushing off.

“Yes, yes, indeed!” cried Nelly; “that’s a pretty way to leave a lady who has given him a mysterious assignation in a wood; and – There, now – what shall I do? If I haven’t forgotten all about the pears!”

Volume Two – Chapter Five.
Mr Maximilian Beginneth to Show his hand

Gone without leaving a trace behind! Would she take another engagement, and write to Mrs Bray for a recommendation? She might, or she might not. She had taken the train at Lexville station after Dudgeon had, by Mrs Bray’s gracious permission, driven the light cart in with “the governess’s boxes;” but upon Mr Dudgeon being favoured with five shillings by Charley Vining, he shook his head.

“Sutternly, sir, I did see her boxes in the station, but I didn’t read the directions.”

Foiled there, Charley inquired of the booking-clerk.

“O yes, sir; remember it perfectly well. Mr Max Bray asked the very same question only this morning. She took a ticket for London, sir.”

“Max Bray asking,” mused Charley. “Then he did not know where she was, and there could be no undercurrent at work there. Max wanted to know her address, confound him! He had better mind how he stood in his way.”

But, save when his thoughts turned in the direction of Laura Bray, which complication in his affairs troubled him, Charley Vining felt lighter of heart; for though Max held that ring, and so ostentatiously displayed it, there was no reason why he might not have obtained it by some hazard, as he himself had once gained possession of a plain golden cross. Matters were not so desperate after all, and he need not give up hope. And yet what misery for her to leave Lexville like that, without one word of farewell – flying, as it were, from his persecution, as well as from that of Max Bray!

Thinking over the words, too, of Nelly, how he could imagine the wretched life the poor girl must have led! and then, with brightened eye, he determined to find out where she had taken refuge. But London – the place of all others where a quest seemed vain.

Charley’s musings were interrupted by one of the servants handing him a letter.

“John Dudgeon, Mr Bray’s man, sir, gave it to our Thomas this morning.”

Charley hastily tore open the thimble-sealed epistle, to find it written on a very dirty sheet of paper, and in a character that was almost undecipherable; but fortunately the note was not long, and he read as follows:

“Hon’d Sur, – This comes hoppin to fine you verry wel, as it leves me at presen. Mr Maxy Million comes a hordrin an a swerin at a pore suvvant lik ennythink, an thare aint know pleesing im. An that ante the wa 2 get ennythink out of him as nose. E say wairs Mis Bedfors bocksis drecty 2, an off korse I wasn goin 2 tel he; but mi gal jain, she se an rede em bofe, an I lik doin gents a good turn as has sivil tungs for a por suwant, and shes gon to missus Brandins Kops all laintun; an if Mr Macks Million wan 2 no, dont let im kum to ure umbel suwant to kommarn,

“Jhon Dugegin.

“P.S. Wich you wone sa i tole u, ples, or yung marsta wil get me the sak.”

Mrs Brandon’s, Copse Hall, Laneton! Why, across country that was, not above a dozen miles off, on a branch of the South Midland Railway. Nothing could have happened more fortunately. He would have the dogcart and drive over at once – no, not at once: he would go the next day; and, come what might, he would see her again. Surely she would not be so hard, so cruel, with him —

His musings were brought to an end by the entrance of Sir Philip with a note in his hand.

The old gentleman looked pale and troubled, but his words were gentle, as he said: “A note from Mr Bray, Charley: he asks us to dinner there to-morrow. Shall I say that we will go?”

“To the Elms? – to-morrow?” said Charley. “No, I cannot; I have an engagement.”

“An engagement! – to-morrow, Charley!” said Sir Philip sadly.

“Yes, I am going out – I cannot go,” said Charley hastily.

Sir Philip said no more, but he sighed deeply as he turned and left the room to decline the invitation, thinking bitterly the while of her who had robbed him of his son’s confidence and affection; for hitherto father and son had lived almost for one another, and now there was coldness and estrangement.

Laura Bray’s eyes sparkled as she saw the servant returning on horseback with the reply from Blandfield Court, for there was a strange excitement now pervading her. In obedience to her brother’s wish she had consented to try and prevail upon Ella Bedford to stay; but it was a source of infinite pleasure to her when she had written to tell Max, in London, that, in spite of all persuasion, Miss Bedford had insisted upon leaving, and had gone – bearing his reproaches and anger with the greatest of patience, when he came down by the fast train, and abused her, and charged her with counterplotting, in the midst of which scene he was interrupted, as we know, by the coming of Charley Vining. As for the events of the next quarter of an hour, they were burned in Laura’s memory; and, her rival gone, her heart was light, and she had sat longing for the time when she should next see him who so engrossed her thoughts.

It was at her instigation that a dinner-party had been arranged at the shortest of short notices, ostensibly so that Maximilian Bray might have Charley Vining to see him – a pleasant fiction, which formed the text for much good-humoured banter at the Bray table, while Laura blushed and looked conscious.

The man was a terrible while before he took in that letter, and Laura’s colour came and went a score of times. Then it seemed as if the footman would never bring the letter up. But at last it was handed to Mr Bray, who was so long getting out his glasses, that Laura, unable to contain herself, exclaimed:

“Let me look for you, papa.”

Seizing the letter, she tore it open, read a few lines, and then dropped it with a look of the utmost disappointment. Then she walked to the window; but only to hurry the next moment from the room, so as to conceal her tears.

Max joined her, though, ten minutes after. “I thought you two had made it up?” he said inquiringly.

“Yes – no – I don’t know,” she answered passionately.

“He’s going out to-morrow, is he?” continued Max musingly. “What’s he going to do? – where’s he going?”

“Have you found out what you want?” said Laura, to turn the current of the conversation.

“Not yet,” he said. “You ought never to have given me the trouble. But I am at work, and so is he.”

“What!” cried Laura eagerly, as she caught her brother’s hand.

“He’s at work too,” said Max. “Bai Jove! he thinks himself very cunning, but he won’t get over me.”

“But you do not mean to say that he is trying to get that creature’s address?” cried Laura pitifully.

“Raving mad after it, bai Jove!” said Max. “You see you want me, Laury. I must take her out of your way altogether, or it’s no good. He won’t throw her up till he hears something.”

“Hears something?” said Laura slowly.

“Yes,” said Max in a whisper; “hears something. I had nearly ripened my plans, only this evasion of hers disturbs them, and now I have to begin all over again.”

“But are you sure he has been trying to find out where she is gone?”

“Certain of it; yes, bai Jove, I am!”

“How cruel! – how treacherous!” muttered Laura.

“There, don’t go into the high flights, and spoon!” said Max roughly. “Set your wits to work. And look here, Laury, take my advice. Now, then, are you listening?”

“Yes – yes!” cried Laura, for she had been pressing her hands abstractedly together.

“Then look here. Don’t show that you either hear or see anything. I have him on the hip in a way he little thinks for. What you have to do is to meet him always with the same gentle unvarying kindness. Wink at everything you hear about him; and even if he comes to you straight from her, you must receive him with open arms. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” said Laura bitterly; “I hear.”

“For, bai Jove! he’s not the man to be played with! Any show of jealousy, or whim, or snubbing, or any of that confounded tabby-foolery you women are so well up in, will drive him away.”

Laura sighed.

“There, don’t be a fool, Laury! Bai Jove, I’m ashamed of you! I thought you were a woman of more spirit. But look here: I was put out – I was, bai Jove! – when I came down and found the little dove had spread her soft little wings and flown away, for it put me to a great deal of trouble and inconvenience and expense; but you trust to me, and you shall be Lady Vining – of course, I mean when the old gentleman drops off. But Charley will come back to you like a great sheep as he is.”

“How dare you, Max!” cried Laura, firing up.

“O, there, I don’t want to upset the fair sister’s sweet prejudices,” said Max, with a sneer. “There, we’ll call him the noble baronet-apparent. He’ll come back to you by and by to soothe the pains in his great soft heart, and you shall heal them for him.”

Laura bit her pocket – handkerchief fiercely, and kept tearing it again from between her teeth.

“I have him, I tell you; and, bai Jove! the day shall come when he shall frown at the very mention of the little soft dove’s name!”

“But when – when?” cried Laura.

“When!” said Max coolly; “bai Jove! how can I tell? I shall work hard as soon as I have found out the address, and when the proper time comes, my charming sister, I shall want your help in a scene I have in petto. It may be a month, or it may be two, or perhaps three; but,” he said excitedly, as he again threw off the drawl, and effeminate way, to let flash out the evil passions of his heart, “I am in earnest, Laury, and I’ll have that address before many days are gone by.”

“But how – how will you get it?” cried Laura.

“Well,” said Max, sinking back into his old way, “I’ve got a plan for that too – one that will give but little trouble, and so I don’t mind telling you.”

“Well – quick, tell me!” cried Laura.

“Bai Jove! how excited you are!” said Max, laughing insolently, and taking evident delight in probing his sister’s wounds. “Charley is hard at work trying to find out her address.”

“Yes, yes!” cried Laura, pressing her hand to her side.

“And he’ll be sure to find it sooner or later.”

“Yes, yes!” cried Laura pitifully, her eyes flashing with jealous hate the while she stood before her brother, the style of woman who, had she lived at an earlier period, would have gladly taken a leaf from the book of Lucrezia Borgia, and ridded herself of her rival.

“Well,” said Max coolly, “I said he’d be sure to find it out, didn’t I?”

“Max – Max! why do you torture me?” cried Laura. “Tell me how you will manage, when you say that you will leave him to find out what should be yours to do, if there is to be any faith in your promise!”

“Faith! – yes, bai Jove, you may have faith in me! And there, I won’t hurt your feelings any more. Charley will find out the address, and so shall I.”

“But how?” cried Laura passionately, stamping her foot.

“How? Why, bai Jove, I shall watch him!”

Volume Two – Chapter Six.
The New Home

John Dudgeon was right. Ella Bedford’s luggage was directed to Mrs Brandon’s, Copse Hall, Laneton, to reach which, unless a fly had been engaged to convey her across country, Ella had to go up to town by one line, and then take her ticket by another. This she did, and reached Copse Hall, a gloomy-looking dwelling, late one evening, her heart sinking as the station fly conveyed her down a muddy lane, on the Croppley Magna road. The hedges were heavy, and the trees seemed all weeping – drip, drip, drip – while an occasional gust of wind drove the rain against the fly window.

Cold, sombre-looking, and bare was the house; and feeling that the refuge she had sought by means of advertising would be to her as a prison, Ella descended from the fly. A tall hard-looking footman opened the door, and kept her standing on the mat of a great bare hall, whose floor was polished oak, and whose ornaments were a set of harsh stiff-backed chairs, that looked as if they had been made out of old coffin boards, while the cold wind rushed through and shut a door somewhere in the back regions with an echoing bang.

“There’ll be a row about that,” said the hard-faced footman, as he set down the second trunk and closed the door, and the flyman drove off. “Missus hates the doors to bang, and they will do it when the wind’s in the south. You’re to come in here, please, Miss – Bedford, isn’t it?”

Trembling, in spite of her efforts to be calm, Ella responded to his query, and then followed the footman to a great gaunt-looking door. He opened it, and announced, “Miss Bedford.” She advanced a few steps, seeing nothing for the blinding tears that would stand in her eyes – tears that she had much difficulty to keep from falling. Then the door was closed behind her, and she felt two warm soft hands take hers, and that she was drawn towards a great glowing fire.

“Why, my dear child!” said a pleasant voice, “you are chilled through. Come this way.”

Then, as in a dream, she felt herself placed in a soft yielding easy-chair, her bonnet and mantle removed, the same soft hands smoothing back her hair, and then, as a pair of warm lips were pressed to hers, the same voice said gently:

“Welcome to Copse Hall, my love! I hope it will prove to you a happy home.”

Ella started to her feet as those words thrilled through her; words so new, so tender, so motherly, that she could no longer restrain her feelings, but threw herself, sobbing violently, upon the gentle breast that seemed to welcome her; for two arms pressed her tightly there for a few moments. Then there were soothing whispers, soft hands caressing her; and at last Ella was seated calm and tranquil at Mrs Brandon’s feet, feeling that, after the storms of the past, a haven of safety had been reached; and long was the converse which followed, as ingenuously Ella told all to her new friend, whose hand still rested on, or played with, the soft glossy bands of hair.

“We will not make a host of promises,” said Mrs Brandon cheerfully; “but see how we get on. You were quite right to leave there: and I had such a kind letter from the Reverend Henry Morton, that I was glad to secure your aid for my children’s education.”

“Mr Morton was very, very kind,” said Ella, “and offered me a home when poor mamma died; but I thought that I ought to be up and doing, though I did not expect so much trouble at the outset.”

“Trouble, my child,” said Mrs Brandon softly, – “the world is full of it;” and Ella, looking up, glanced at the widow’s weeds. “Yes, seven years ago now,” she continued, interpreting Ella’s glance. “But the troubles here could be lessened, if we studied others more and self less. But there, bless me, you haven’t seen the children!” and jumping up, she rang, and the hard-faced footman appeared.

“Tell Jane to bring in the young ladies, Edward,” said Mrs Brandon; and, five minutes after, two bright happy-looking girls of eight and ten came running in. “There, my dears, that is Miss Bedford – your new governess.”

The two girls went smiling up to offer their hands and kiss her, the younger clinging to her, and reading her face with a curious childish gaze.

“They are both totally spoiled, Miss Bedford,” said Mrs Brandon, gazing fondly at her children; “and they’re behindhand and tomboyish, and will give you no end of trouble. But you must rule them very strictly; and as they’ve not been quite so bad to-day, they may have tea with us this evening.”

The girls clapped their hands, and over that pleasant meal it seemed to Ella that she must have been there for months; while, when Mrs Brandon accompanied her to her bedroom that night – a snug pleasant chamber, with a fire, books, and a general aspect of comfort – and left her alone with the sense of the warm kiss on her lips – a friendly pressure on her hand, Ella sank upon her knees, and the tears would for a while flow – tears this time, though, of thankfulness for the refuge she had found.

Two days of happiness had passed like a dream, in spite of sad thoughts and an undefined dread that all was too bright to last, when, seated in the drawing-room with Mrs Brandon, Ella’s heart leaped, and then the blood seemed to rush to her heart, for the clangour of the hall bell proclaimed a visitor. The next minute the hard footman entered with a card upon a salver.

“Gentleman wishes to see Miss Bedford,” he said; and Ella with trembling hand took the card, to read thereon:

“Mr Charles Vining, Blandfield Court.”