Kitabı oku: «Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One», sayfa 19

Waiting for News

The weeks went on, and glided into months. Frank Pratt had been as punctual as the clock in his visits to Russell Square, but his love matters made no progress. Unless he had something to communicate affecting Tiny, Fin would hardly stay a minute. Then, too, at times, there were checks caused by the presence of Aunt Matty, when Pratt would return to his chambers disconsolate, and yet happy at having had a glimpse of the darling of his heart.

Once, when he had entered strongly into his affairs, and spoke of trying to renew his acquaintance in a straightforward way with the family —

“Because I should not be ashamed to meet Sir Hampton now,” he said.

Fin responded coolly —

“I’m afraid I hate you very much, Mr Pratt.”

“Hate me! Why?” he exclaimed.

“Because you’re so unfeeling.”

“Unfeeling?”

“You think so much of yourself, and your silly love nonsense, when poor Tiny is persecuted and tortured by that hateful Vanleigh, who only wants her money. I believe he’d ill-treat her before they’d been married a month. He looks like a wife-beater.”

“But they never persecute you,” said Pratt.

“Don’t they? Why, only this morning pa told me that he should expect me to receive Sir Felix Landells; while ma cried, and Aunt Matty nodded her head approvingly.”

“And – and what did you say?” cried Pratt.

“I gave Pepine a vicious kick, and walked out of the room. And now, sir, if you please, how about all your fine promises? What have you done all these months? Have you got that wicked wretch Trevor back his property? Come, speak!”

“No,” said Pratt, “I went down on Tuesday to see how things were, and Master Humphrey seems settling down comfortably enough. Quite the country squire.”

“Serve Richard Trevor right,” said Fin. “And now, about that girl? Does he go to see her still?”

Pratt was silent.

“How dare you stand there like that, Frank, and not answer me?” cried Fin.

“Call me Frank again, darling, and I’ll say anything you wish.”

“I won’t,” said Fin. “You shall tell me without.”

“I don’t like telling tales about poor Dick,” said Pratt.

“If you care for me, sir, it’s your duty to tell me the honest truth about everything. Am I less than Richard Trevor?”

Bodily, of course, she was; but as she meant in his regards, he said she was all the world to him.

“Now, then,” said Fin, “does he go to see that girl now?”

“Yes,” said Pratt; “but I’m sure it’s all in innocence. The poor girl is in a dying state. I went to see her with him once, and a sweeter creature you never saw.”

“Then she has captivated you, too?” cried Fin, viciously.

“Oh, come – I say!” exclaimed Pratt. “Fin, that goes right to my heart.”

“And now about Vanleigh. You’ve boasted over and over again that you could produce something which would put a stop to his pretensions – where is it?”

“You are so hard on a poor fellow,” said Pratt. “I am trying my best, and I feel quite sure that he has no right to pretend to the hand of your sister; but then, you know, before one makes such a charge, there must be good personal and documentary evidence.”

“Well,” exclaimed Pin, “and where is it?”

“I haven’t got it yet,” said Pratt; “but I have tried very, very hard. I shall succeed, though, yet, I know.”

“And while you are succeeding, poor Tiny is to be sacrificed?”

“Oh no; not so bad as that. I don’t despair of seeing Dick back at Penreife, and your dear sister its mistress.”

“Then I do,” cried Pin, bitterly; “for she’s drifting into a state of melancholy, and will let them persuade her to do what they wish. She thinks Richard has given her up, and deceived her; and soon she won’t care whether she lives or dies.”

“But, Fin – ” said Pratt.

“Miss Rea, if you please, Mr Pratt,” said the girl, formally.

“Don’t be hard on me,” he pleaded. “I’m trying my best, and if I can only get some one to speak, I shall have the whole thing at my finger’s ends.”

“Then the sooner you do the better,” said Fin, sharply. “Good-bye.”

“One moment, dear,” whispered Pratt.

“Well, what is it?” said Fin.

“Give me one kind look, you beautiful little darling,” whispered Pratt.

Fin made a grimace, and then, as if in spite of herself, her bright eyes beamed on him for a moment ere she withdrew them.

“And now tell me this,” whispered Pratt; “if they say any more to you about Landells, or if he speaks to you, you’ll – you’ll – you’ll – ”

“There, good-bye!” cried Fin. “How can you be such a goose? I haven’t patience with you – good-bye.”

There was a look accompanying that good-bye that sent a thrill through Frank Pratt, and he went back to his musty briefs as light as if treading on air.

On reaching his chambers, though, it was to find Barnard, the solicitor, waiting for him.

“Well, what news?” was Pratt’s greeting.

“Nothing more,” was the reply. “I’ve sent, and I’ve been myself. That this Vanleigh has compromised himself in some way, so that his marriage is impossible, I feel convinced; but a solution of the matter can only come from one pair of lips.”

“Well?”

“And they remain obstinately silent.”

A Visit

And the months glided on. Winter came, and in its turn gave place to the promise of spring; that came, though, with its harsh eastern blasts that threatened to extinguish the frail lamp of life still burning opposite Richard’s rooms.

He had responded to Pin’s letter soon after its receipt, but he had heard no more. His attempts at obtaining an engagement had proved failures still; and so he had accepted his fate, and spent his time reading hard, his sole pleasures being a visit across the road, or a dinner with Frank Pratt.

Of the acts of the Rea family he knew little, save that they had wintered in Cornwall, from which a letter came occasionally from Humphrey or Mr Mervyn, both sent to the care of Frank Pratt, Esq.; and in his, Humphrey had twice over expressed a wish to divide the property with his old companion.

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t do so,” Pratt had said. “It’s Quixotic not to accept his offer.”

“Aut Caesar, aut nullus,” was Richard’s reply. “No, Franky, I’m too proud. I could never go to Cornwall again but as master. Those days are gone.”

“But, Dick, old man!”

“My dear Franky,” said Richard, dropping something of the misanthropical bitterness that had come over him of late, “I am quite content as I am – content to wait; some of these days a chance will turn up. I’ll abide my time.”

“He’s gone back to her,” said Pratt, shaking his head. “Poor old Dick! – some people would misjudge him cruelly. Well, time will show.”

Pratt was quite right, Richard had gone back to Netta; for it promised to be a fine afternoon, and on such days it had grown to be his custom to devote the few shillings he could spare from his scanty income to the payment of Sam Jenkles.

It was so this day. Sam was at the door by two, with the old horse brushed up, and every worn buckle shining. Then Richard would go upstairs, to find Netta with a bright spot in each cheek, and an eager welcome in her eye. She had gained ground during the autumn, but in the winter it had all been lost; and now the time had come when Richard raised her in his arms, and had to carry her – grown so light – down to the cab, wherein he tenderly placed her, and took her for one of the drives of which she was never weary.

It seemed a strange taste, but her desire was always for the same spot – the little wood where the fallen tree was lying. Here, on sunny days, she would sit for an hour, while he read to her; and then the quiet, slow journey was taken back, when the little ceremony had to be gone through in reverse, there was a grateful pressure of the hand, and Richard took his leave.

Twenty or thirty times was this little excursion made, and always with a foreboding on Richard’s part that it was to be the last. But still she lingered, brightening with the balmy April weather that came by fits, and then fading again under the chilling blasts.

By some means Netta had informed herself of the return of the Rea family to town for the season, and she prepared to execute a little plan that had been long deferred. She had possessed herself of the note sent by Fin – the note which Richard had let fall. Probably Mrs Jenkles was the bearer of her messages, and had obtained the information she required. Suffice it that Tiny Rea, now somewhat recovered, but still pale and dejected, received one morning a note, which she read, and then placed in her mother’s hands.

It was as follows: —

“I have heard so often of your beauty, goodness, and your many acts of kindness, that I have been tempted to ask you to come once and see me before I pass away. I would say pray come, but I think your gentle heart will listen to my simple appeal. Come to me, and say good-bye.

“Netta Lane.”

Here followed the address.

“It’s some poor creature in great distress, my dear, who has heard of us. We’ll go this afternoon, and take her something.”

“Would you go, mamma?” faltered Tiny, whose heart told her whom the letter was from.

“Certainly, my dear. I shouldn’t rest to-night if I’d left such an appeal as that unanswered, let alone enjoy our At Home; though there isn’t much enjoyment to be got out of those affairs, with everybody drinking tea on the stairs, and ten times as many people as we’ve room for.”

“Then you would go, mamma?”

“Certainly, darling. It’s an awkward time for her to send, but we’ll go; and oh, my darling, pray, pray try and look bright. You make me wretched.”

“I do – I will try, mamma!” exclaimed Tiny, suppressing a sob. “But tell me, is Captain Vanleigh going to be here to-night?”

“I – I was obliged to send him an invitation, my darling,” said Lady Rea, pitifully. “Your papa stood at my side while I wrote it. If – if – he – Mr Trevor had stood firm to you, they should have cut me in pieces before I’d have done it; but as it is, what can I do?”

Tiny made no reply; and directly after luncheon the carriage came round, and, being left at the corner of the narrow street, Lady Rea and her daughter made their way on foot to the house of Mrs Jenkles.

Mrs Lane met them, and said it was her daughter’s wish to see Miss Rea alone, if she would condescend to go up and see her; and a minute after, with a mist floating before her eyes, and a singing in her ears, Tiny stood near Netta’s couch, as the poor girl lay, with clasped fingers, gazing up at the graceful, fashionably-dressed girl.

Tiny maintained a haughty silence for a few minutes. This was the girl for whom she had been forsaken. She felt sure of it. How could it be otherwise? But the letter said that she was dying. Fin had told her of Pratt’s assurances; and, as the mist cleared away, so melted the hauteur, for she could not look upon the soft, sweet face before her with anger; and if he loved her, should not she do the same? The two girls gazed in each other’s eyes for a few moments, and then, with a smile, Netta held out one hand.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “I have wanted to see you for months, and I was afraid I should not live long enough. Do you know why?”

“No – I cannot tell,” said Tiny, in a choking voice; for she, too, could see for herself the truth of what had been said.

“I wanted to see the beautiful girl that he loves – her of whom he has so often talked – and to tell you that you have misjudged him, if you think as your sister thinks in the letter she sent.”

“Letter?” exclaimed Tiny.

“Yes, this,” said the girl, producing one from her bosom. “Oh, Miss Rea, how can you slight his noble love? If you only knew! You both misjudge him. Look at me, dear. I am here now; perhaps to-morrow, or the next day, I shall be gone. But I do not think I could have died without seeing you face to face, and telling you that he has been true, and noble, and faithful to you. You might not have believed me if I had been different; but now, ready to go away, you know mine are true words, when I tell you Richard Lloyd has been to me as a brother.”

“Oh, I believe, I believe!” sobbed Tiny, sinking on her knees beside the couch. “But it is too late – too late!”

“No, no,” whispered Netta, “it is not too late. Make him happy. Send to him to come to you. He is too proud and poor to come himself. But I know his story: how he lost all through being so honourable and good. Tiny – you see I know your name; why, he has described you to me so often that I should have known you– send for him, and bless him. You could not love such a one as he too well.”

“Too late!” sobbed Tiny. “It is too late.”

She started up, and turned as if to go; but only to push her hair back from her forehead, lean over Netta’s couch and kiss her, as a pair of thin, weak arms closed round her neck. Then, tearing herself away, she hurried from the house with Lady Rea, who vainly questioned her as to the cause of her agitation.

“I asked the woman, who is very ladylike, my dear, but she said her daughter would explain; so I waited till you came down; and now,” said the little ruffled dame, “you do nothing but cry.”

“Don’t ask me now, mamma, dear,” sobbed Tiny, covering her face with her hands. “Another time I’ll tell you all.”

“Very well, my darling,” said Lady Rea, resignedly. “But, pray, try now and look brighter. Papa will be terribly put out if he finds you so; for he said you told him yesterday you would do as he wished about Captain Vanleigh, and Aunt Matty has been quite affectionate to me ever since.”

“Mamma, dear, do you think it will make you happier?”

“I don’t know, my dear,” said Lady Rea. “I blame myself sometimes for not being more determined; but I’m obliged to own that Captain Vanleigh has been very patient, and he must care for you.”

Tiny shuddered again, and her sobs became so violent that Lady Rea drew up the carriage window, for a few minutes being quite alarmed. At length, though, the poor girl grew calm, and seemed to make an effort over herself as they neared home, just as Fin crossed the road from the square garden, looking as innocent as if she had not had half an hour’s talk with Frank Pratt.

At Home

“And what do you mean to do, Tiny?” said Fin, as she stood by her sister’s side, dressed for the evening. “Papa told me about it, and nearly boxed my ears because I said it was a shame; and he ended by saying if I did not follow your example, and listen to Sir Felix, he would keep me on bread and water; and then I laughed out loud, and he left the room in a fury. How could you be so weak?”

“I don’t know,” faltered Tiny, “only that I was very miserable. Constant dropping will wear a stone.”

“Then the stone must be very soft. Withdraw your promise,” cried Fin. “Do as I do. I’ll be as obedient a child as I can, but I will not be married against my will.”

“Please, Miss, somebody’s downstairs already,” said their maid, entering the room. “And Edward says Sir Hampton’s in a towering passion because there was no one but him in the drawing-room.”

“Isn’t mamma there?” cried Fin.

“No, Miss, her ladyship was dressed, and going down; but her primrose satin came undone – give way at the hooks and eyes – and she had to go back to change it.”

“Tell Edward to say we’ll be down in a moment,” said Fin.

Hurrying the girl out of the room, she turned to Tiny, who stood looking pale and stunned.

“It wasn’t true, Fin!” she said, pitifully, as her face began to work. “He wasn’t deceitful. I saw her to-day.”

“Saw whom?” exclaimed Fin, in wonder.

“That poor girl. She sent for me – she is dying; and oh, Fin, darling, I feel as if my heart would break!”

She sank sobbing on her sister’s shoulder, sadly disarranging poor Fin’s dress; but that was forgotten as, with eager haste, the little maiden tried hard to soothe and comfort her.

“If ma won’t fight for you, Tiny, I will,” she cried, impetuously. “I declare its too bad. I don’t half know what you are talking about; but Frank – I mean Mr Pratt, always sticks up for his friend. Ugh! I wish I’d been near when that wicked Mrs Lloyd changed the babies, I’d have knocked her head off.”

At this moment there was a knock at the bedroom door.

“Coming – coming – coming – coming!” said Fin, in a crescendo,

Then running to the door, she opened it once more to the maid.

“Please, Miss – ”

“Bother – bother – bother!” cried Fin. “Don’t you see Miss Rea’s poorly? Go and say we’ll be down soon.”

“But, please, Miss, Sir Hampton sent Edward for me, and jumped on me horrid. He said it was my fault you weren’t dressed, and your dear ma looks quite frightened with the people coming.”

“Go and say we’ll come down as soon as my sister’s better – there!”

She half pushed the girl from the room, and then turned to Tiny.

“Now, look here, Tiny – you’re very fond of that wicked Richard Trevor, bad as he’s behaved to you.”

Tiny gave her a pitiful look.

“Then I say, once for all, it would be a piece of horrible wickedness for you to let papa frighten you into this engagement. Now, tell me directly how it was. You ought to have told me before. If you had been a good, wise sister, you would.”

“Oh, Tin, I could not tell you!” said Tiny, plaintively. “You had just come in from the square, and looked so happy about – ”

“I didn’t – I wasn’t – I hate him; and I won’t listen to him any more till you are happy,” burst out Fin.

Tiny smiled.

“Papa sent for me into his study, and took my hand, and sat down by me. He was so gentle and kind. He said he wanted to see us both settled in a position which should give us the entrée into good society; for he said that, after all, he knew well enough people did not care for him, as he’d been a tradesman.”

Fin gave her head a jerk.

“He told me he had given way about – about – ”

“Yes, yes – go on – I know,” said Tin.

“And that if he had not lost his position he should never have opposed the match; but as that was all over, he begged me to consent to receive Captain Vanleigh’s attentions. And, oh, Fin, he knew about the attentions to that poor girl, and told me of it.”

“Then some spiteful spy must have told him that,” cried Fin. “Oh, Aunt Matty.”

“He talked to me for an hour, Fin, so kindly all the time – said it would be for the best, and that it would make him happy and me too, he was sure; and at last I gave way. For oh, Fin, darling, I had no hope yesterday – nothing, I felt, to live for; and I thought that if I could make him satisfied, and dear ma happy, that was all I need care to do.”

“Then you were a wicked, weak little coward,” said Fin, “I’d have died sooner than given way. There, here they are again for us; and now I suppose we are to meet those people to-night.”

“Yes; papa said he should write to Captain Vanleigh.”

“And Sir Felix, of course. Madame, your humble servant – Finetta, Lady Landells. There, we’re coming down now. Miss Rea is better,” she said, in answer to a knock at the door.

Tiny turned to the glass, and smoothed her hair, while Fin went and stood behind her, holding her waist.

“What are you going to do?” she said, sharply.

Tiny shook her head.

“Masterly inactivity – that’s the thing,” cried Fin. “Do nothing; let things drift, same as I do. It can’t go on, I’m sure it can’t. There, let’s go down, for poor dear mamma’s sake, and I’ll be buffer all the evening. Whenever Bluebeard comes near you, I’ll get between, and we’ll have a long talk to-morrow.”

The two girls went down, to find many of the visitors arrived; and the news of Tiny’s indisposition having spread, she was surrounded directly with kind inquirers. But she hardly heard a word that was said to her, for her timid eyes were wandering round the room, to see if the object of her dread had arrived; and then, noticing his absence, she sank back in a fauteuil with a sigh of relief.

Fin mounted guard by her side, and snubbed the down off the wings of several butterflies who came fluttering about them, her little lips tightening into a thin smile as Sir Felix and Vanleigh were announced.

Directly they had freed themselves from their host and hostess, they made their way to the corner of the great drawing-room, now ablaze with gas and candles, where the sisters were together; and, in spite of Fin’s diplomacy, she found Vanleigh too much for her, as he quietly put aside her vicious little thrusts, and ended by interposing himself between her and Tiny – Fin being carried off by Sir Felix, whose face wore quite a puzzled expression, so verbally nettled was his little prize.

Aunt Matty met them, carrying with her a halo of lavender wherever she went, and exhaling the sad fragrance in every direction as she moved. Pepine was poorly in bed, so that his mistress was able to devote the whole of her attention to those with whom she came in contact.

“Ah, Sir Felix!” she exclaimed, “and so you’ve captured my saucy little bird of a niece. You’ll have to clip her wings some day,” she continued, playfully.

As she spoke she tapped Fin on each shoulder – from whence the imaginary wings doubtless sprang – with her fan, while aunt and niece gazed in each other’s eyes.

“Yes, exactly,” said Sir Felix, smiling feebly.

But somehow he did not feel comfortable, and in spite of his after-efforts to lead Fin into conversation, he failed.

The end of it was that the little maid telegraphed to another admirer, and had herself carried back to where she had left her sister; but Tiny was gone.

In fact, as soon as they were left alone, Vanleigh had quietly offered his arm.

“This room is too hot for you, Valentina,” he said. “Let me take you out of the crowd.”

“Masterly inactivity,” Fin had said, and the words seemed to ring in Tiny’s ears, as, unable to refuse, she suffered herself to be led through the crowded rooms, past Lady Rea, who nodded and smiled – past Aunt Matty, who came up, tapped the Captain on the middle shirt stud with her fan, and pinched her niece’s cheek, as she smiled at her like a wintry apple – past Sir Hampton, who came behind her, and whispered, a faint “Er-rum.”

“Thank you, Tiny: good girl!” – out on to the great broad staircase, now a complete conservatory of exotics where the air was perfectly cool by comparison; and there Vanleigh found her a seat smiling occasionally at the new-comers who kept thronging upstairs to where Lady Rea was receiving – Sir Hampton now keeping an eye upon the couple, a flight of stain below him, and nodding encouragement whenever his eyes met those of his child.

“I received Sir Hampton’s note yesterday,” said Vanleigh at last, speaking slowly, and in a suppressed voice, as the guests passed on. “Don’t start – I am not going to make a scene. I only wish to tell you how happy you have made me, and that you shall find me patient and watchful of your every wish.”

“Masterly inactivity,” thought Tiny.

“I am going to wait – to let you see that heretofore you have misjudged me. And now let me assure you that I am not going to presume upon the consent I have received.”

He waited, and she felt obliged to speak.

“Captain Vanleigh,” faltered Tiny, “it was at my father’s wish that I gave way, and consented to receive your visits. It is only fair to tell you that you are seeking to gain one who does not – who can never care for you.”

“My dear Valentina,” he said, smiling, “I am quite content. I know your sweet, gentle nature better than you know it yourself. And now for once, and once only, I am going to revert to an unpleasant theme, begging you first to forgive me for touching a wound that I know still throbs.”

“Captain Vanleigh!”

“It is odd, is it not,” he said, speaking with a mingling of profound tenderness and respect – “this talking of such things in a crowd? I only wished to say this once, that you do not know me. I am going to prove my love by patience. Valentina, dearest, you have been wasting the sweetness of your heart on an unworthy object.”

She tried to rise; but his hand rested on her arm, and detained her.

“I pain you; but I must tell you, sweet one, that he whom you cared for, no sooner left your side than he sought consolation with another, forsaking a love that is meet for the best on earth – a love of which I feel myself unworthy. Stay, not a syllable. Those were cruel words, but the words of truth. Now we understand one another, let us draw a veil over the past, never to refer to it again. You will know me better soon.”

As he spoke, there was a little bustle in the hall, where visitors were constantly arriving; and as Vanleigh stood gazing down in the pale, frightened face before him, watching the struggle that was going on, a plainly dressed woman brushed by the servant, who tried to stay her, and reached the stairs.

“Forgive me, Valentina,” whispered Vanleigh, bending over her. “I touched the wound but to try and heal it. My future life shall be all devotion; and in the happiness to come you will – ”

Tiny half rose; and he was about offering his arm to conduct her back to the drawing-room, when a voice below arrested him.

“Don’t stop me! I must see him. I know he is here.”

“But you can’t, you know. Here, Edward!”

It was one of the servants who called, but he was too late; the strange visitor had already reached the landing as Sir Hampton hurried down, aghast at such a daring interruption.

At that moment the woman uttered a cry of joy, and darted towards where Vanleigh stood with his companion.

“Oh, Arthur!” she cried, “they would not bring a message. I was obliged to force my way in.”

“Who is this madwoman?” cried Vanleigh, turning of a waxy pallor, while Tiny clung to the balustrade for support.

“Yes; mad – almost!” cried the woman, with a piteous cry. “But come – come at once! She is praying to see you once more. Arthur, Arthur,” she panted, sinking at his knees, and clasping them, “for God’s sake, come – our darling is on the point of death!”

“Who is this woman? Er-rum – Edward – James!” cried Sir Hampton, “where are the police?”

“Don’t touch me!” cried the unwelcome visitor, starting to her feet; and her words came panting from her breast. “Quiet, Arthur, or it’s too late! Sir,” she cried, turning to Sir Hampton, whose hand was on her arm, “I am Captain Vanleigh’s wife!”