Kitabı oku: «Wild Heather», sayfa 14
"And father – what is to become of father?"
"I'm afraid he'll have to go on living with Lady Helen," was Vernon's answer. But I shook my head.
"No," I said; "not at all. I have a better scheme than that. Lady Helen is very much frightened, isn't she, Vernon?"
"A 'blue funk' doesn't even describe her," replied Vernon.
"Well, then," I said, "I have a plan in my head. You and I will go up to London to-morrow." "I am quite agreeable, Heather – that is, if it causes you to hurry on our wedding day."
"Oh, there's time enough for our wedding day," I said. "We mustn't be selfish, you know, Vernon."
"Selfish? By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Little you know about selfishness when you accuse me of it."
"Oh, Vernon," I said, "I'm just so happy I scarcely know what to do. But because I am so happy I don't want the one I love best in all the world after yourself to be out in the cold."
"What do you mean by that, Heather dear?"
"Just what I say. I don't want to leave my own darling father absolutely miserable."
"Jove! you're right there. But what can you do? You can't part a man from his lawful wife."
"No more I can – that's quite true; but I do want to see him and – I must see Lady Helen, too. Vernon, you'll help me, won't you?"
"By all means," he answered. "But now, let us talk of ourselves. How soon do you think we can be married – in a fortnight? Surely a fortnight would be long enough for any reasonable girl."
"I am by no means certain of that," I replied. "I will marry you, Vernon, as soon as ever I can put other matters right."
"Oh, but I have a voice in this, for I mean to marry you without a moment's delay – that is, I mean that I will give you one fortnight and not an hour beyond. It is the fashion now to be married by banns. Well, we'll have our banns cried on Sunday next and on the following Sunday and the Sunday after, and we can be married on the Monday after that. That's about right, isn't it? That's as it ought to be."
"Vernon, you are so – so impulsive."
"Well, little girl, I'm made like that. When I want a thing I generally contrive to get it, and that as soon as possible. Jove! I did have work in getting you. If I hadn't thought and thought, and very nearly driven myself distracted, do you imagine for a single moment I'd have ferreted out that secret of Gideon Dalrymple's? So much thinking is exceedingly bad for a fellow, Heather, and the sooner you can set his heart at rest, the better for his general health."
"All right," I replied. "I will marry you in a fortnight if father is happy and if Aunt Penelope is satisfied."
"You needn't doubt her," said Vernon. "I put the question to her before you entered the drawing-room. When you were upstairs, putting on that pretty frock and tidying your hair, I had the brunt of the business settled with her. She likes sharp work; she told me so. When you appeared on the scene I was quite like an old family man pouring out the tea for her, and all the rest."
"There never was anyone like you," I said, and I took his hand timidly in mine.
"Come – this is all nonsense! Kiss me, Heather."
"No, no, Vernon – I – I can't."
"Don't be a dear little goose. I must be paid for what I've done. Kiss me this instant."
"It's your place – " I began.
"All right, if that's how you put it."
He clasped his arms round me and drew me close to him and kissed me over and over and over again.
"There now," he said; "it's your turn."
"But you have kissed me."
"Of course, I have. I want you to kiss me. Now begin. Come, Heather, don't be shy."
I did kiss him, and after I had kissed him once I kissed him again, and my dark eyes looked into his blue ones, and I seemed to see the steadfast, bright, honourable soul that dwelt within his breast, and I knew that I was the happiest of girls.
We went slowly back from the Downs into the more shady part of the little town. We stopped at Aunt Penelope's house. A great deal had been happening in our absence. Buttons was flying about like a creature demented, the parrot was calling in a voice loud enough to deafen you: "Stop knocking at the door!" and Aunt Penelope was in her very best cap and in her softest and most stately black silk dress. She wore black silk dresses of the sort which are never seen now. It was thick; it would almost stand by itself; it had a ribby sort of texture, and in order to enrich the silk it was heavily trimmed with bands of black velvet and with a fringe of what they called black bugles. The effect was at once dull and extremely handsome. It suited Aunt Penelope to a nicety – that and her little cap with the real point lace and the soft mauve ribbons.
When I appeared she just nodded to me and said something to Vernon, and he said: "Yes, certainly." I ran upstairs. Presently I heard a tap at my door. I went to open it; Aunt Penelope stood outside.
"May I come in, Heather?"
"Of course, darling auntie."
I took her hand; I drew her into the room.
"Heather, I know – it's too wonderful. What a splendid fellow! Heather, I am glad."
"Oh, auntie, my heart is bursting with happiness!"
"Heather, child, I'm a woman of few words, but if your mother were alive she'd be proud of this day. He has the very soul of honesty in his face; he is better looking than your poor dear father ever was, but he has the same sort of nature, so boyish, so impulsive, so brave. He's a dear – that's all that I can say about him."
"And if you weren't a dear for your own sake, you'd be one for calling him one," was my somewhat incoherent answer.
"Well, now, that's enough sentiment, child; we must to business. How do you like my dress?"
"It's magnificent – and you have put it on in honour of me."
"In honour of a captain in His Majesty's army. Child, I do so greatly respect army men."
"Oh, yes, I see. Thank you, so do I. Indeed, it's a very handsome dress," I continued.
"I think so," she replied. "It was made fifteen years ago, at least. I only wear it on the very best occasions, otherwise it would have got greasy ages and ages before now. It's amazing how difficult it is to keep these really good silks from turning greasy; the grease seems to cling to them in some sort of fashion, and you can never get it out, try as you will."
"It looks awfully nice – it really does, auntie."
"I am proud to be wearing it for your sake and for his to-night."
"And you have asked him to dinner?"
"Yes. I have come to speak of that. It is a real dinner; Jonas and I have concocted it between us. You are to know nothing about it; you are just to eat it when it comes on the table, and to be right-down thankful. Now that you are happy you must eat well, for nothing in some ways takes it out of one more than happiness. You have been looking sadly worn out, child, and now you have got to eat and drink and get your pretty, youthful roses back again. Oh, Heather, Vernon agrees with me about the world; he hates fashionable people. He told me, dear boy, that for a short time he was engaged to one of them. I never met anybody so confiding."
"I know all about his engagement," I said. "I saw her once, too; she was very handsome."
"Ah, yes; I have no doubt – a society doll. Well, he hasn't chosen badly, when he's elected that your little face and your brown eyes and your warm heart shall accompany him through life. You'd best smarten yourself up a bit for dinner, Heather; I don't want your old aunt to take the shine out of you, my love – and, remember, this dress is uncommonly handsome."
"Yes, auntie, I know. I shouldn't be surprised if you did take the shine out of me; but I don't think I shall greatly mind."
So I put on a pretty white dress, for a few of my dresses had been sent from London, doubtless by my dear father's orders, and ran downstairs. Bless that boy Buttons – he had effected marvels! The tiny dining room was gay with flowers, the very best old dinner service had been got out for the occasion, the best silver had been polished up, and I, who was accustomed to doing pretty nearly half the work of the house, wasn't allowed to put my hand to anything. I really felt annoyed. I did not like to be at Hill View without attending to its household economy.
Vernon came in from his rooms at the little hotel, looking spick and span, as he always did. We three sat down to dinner, and certainly that dinner was a triumph. I have often puzzled myself to wonder how Aunt Penelope contrived to manage it. First of all there was soup, the best soup I had ever tasted, and then there was fish, trout which had been alive a couple of hours before, and then there was pigeon pie and peas and potatoes, and afterwards strawberries and cream. There was also a bottle of very old port wine, which Aunt Penelope fingered with a trembling hand.
"I have had it in the house since long before your mother was married," she said to me. "Vernon, my boy, you will find it worthy of even your refined tastes."
Vernon immediately begged to be allowed to draw the cork; he said that such precious old wine as that required most tender handling. Aunt Penelope and I had a little glass each, and Vernon had one or two, and afterwards he told Aunt Penelope something of our plans and how he and I were going to London on the morrow to see my father and Lady Helen.
Aunt Penelope nodded her head several times.
"I have only one improvement to make on that plan," she said.
"Oh, but what improvement can you make, auntie?" was my reply.
"I can and I will," she said, with emphasis. "I am quite well now, as well as ever. Now what I mean to do is this; I mean to go with you two good young people. I will never be in your way, never for a moment, but I will guard you from the malicious tongue of Mrs. Grundy. She's a nasty old body, and I don't want her to get at you. There's a quiet little hotel in Bloomsbury where Heather and I can have rooms, and where we can stay, and I make not the slightest doubt that I can help Heather very considerably in her dealings with Lady Helen Dalrymple."
"Oh, you can, you can," I said; "it will be quite splendid!"
So the plan was carried out. Jonas was informed that very evening that Miss Penelope and I were going to leave Hill View early on the morrow.
"We shall probably be back in a few days," said Aunt Penelope. "In the meantime, Jonas, you must attend to the house cleaning; give it a thorough turn-out. Wash every scrap of paint, Jonas; be sure you wash the backs of the shutters, don't leave a single place with a scrap of dirt in it; remember, I'll find it out if it exists – be certain of that."
"Yes, mum; thank you, mum," said Jonas. "I'll be sure to do what you wish, mum."
"And Jonas, you understand the garden. You can get the grass into order and remove all the weeds. We may be having a smart time down here by and by, there's no saying, there's no saying at all, but at least remember that you haven't a minute to lose. You are a good boy, Jonas, and you'll work as hard when I am away as though I were at home."
"Yes, mum; of course, mum," said Jonas. "Me and the parrot," he added.
"Stop knocking at the door!" shouted the parrot.
"There! if that bird isn't enough to split one's head," said Aunt Penelope.
She went upstairs. Vernon had already gone back to the hotel. Buttons gave me a feeling glance.
"Stay below for a minute, missy. Is it true? Is there nuptials in this 'ere thing?"
"Yes, Jonas."
"I thought as much. Didn't I twig it when I heard his steps and saw the starty sort of way you got into? I'm a smart boy, I am. Missy, you'll have me at the wedding, won't you?"
"I promise you, Jonas, you shall certainly come," I answered rashly.
The next day we went up to London. We had no special adventure on our journey to town. We went first-class. I remembered my journey down, and how interesting I had thought the third-class passengers, but now we travelled back in state. Vernon said it would be less tiring for Aunt Penelope. When we got to Paddington we drove to the little hotel that Aunt Penelope knew about; it was a quiet little place at one corner of a small square in Bloomsbury. It was very old-fashioned and not much frequented of late. The proprietor, however, knew Aunt Penelope quite well. Had he not entertained her and my mother also in the long-ago days when they were young? Aunt Penelope was anxious to secure the same rooms, and, strange as it may seem, she managed to get them. The landlord was very pleased indeed to show them to her, and she told me afterwards that the sight of them brought a prickly sensation into the back of her eyes, and made her feel inclined to cry. The rooms were quiet and clean, and that was the main thing. Vernon did not think much of them, but they pleased Aunt Penelope, and that, of course, was the most important matter of all.
Having arranged about the rooms, Vernon now suggested that we should engage a taxi-cab and drive straight to Hanbury Square, but here Aunt Penelope put down her foot.
"What sort of cab did you say, my dear boy?"
"A taxi-cab, auntie." He called her "auntie" from the very moment we were properly engaged.
"I don't like new sorts of cabs," replied my aunt. "I want what in my young days used to be called a 'growler.' I hate hansoms; I wouldn't dare go in one of them."
In vain poor Vernon pleaded for the light and swift motion of the cab which was driven by petrol. The old lady held up her hands with horror.
"Not for worlds would I go in a motor-cab," she said. "Vernon, I have admired you and stood up for you, but I shall do so no longer if you even mention such a thing to me again."
So in the end we three had to drive to my stepmother's in a four-wheeled cab. Aunt Penelope said that it was quite a handsome conveyance, and not the least like the "growlers" she used to remember in the days when she and her sister were young. We got to the great and beautiful house about noon. We walked up the steps and Vernon rang the bell.
"Perhaps they'll be out," I could not help whispering in his ear.
"No, I think not," he replied. "I sent a telegram this morning which I imagine will keep them at home. Now, you'll keep up your courage, won't you, darling?"
"You needn't be afraid," I replied.
He gave my hand a squeeze, and the door was flung open. The automaton who opened it could not help becoming flesh and blood when he saw my face. A queer flicker went over his countenance; he coloured, faintly smiled, then, remembering himself, became a wooden man once again.
"Is Lady Helen in?" I ventured to say.
"Yes, Miss Dalrymple. I'll inquire of her ladyship if she can see you, and – " he glanced at Vernon, he looked with downright suspicion at Aunt Penelope.
"It is all right," I said. "We can go into the little sitting-room at the left of the hall. Will you please say that I have called, and that Miss Despard and Captain Carbury are with me? Say that we wish to see her ladyship."
"And as soon as possible," snapped Aunt Penelope. "Have the goodness further to inform Lady Helen that we are in a considerable hurry, and would be glad if she would make it convenient not to keep us waiting long."
"Certainly, madam," replied the man. He disappeared, and we waited in the little room towards the left of the hall.
"Aunt Penelope, you are brave," I could not help saying.
"I come of a brave stock," said the old lady. "Did not my father die when little more than a boy in the battle of Inkerman, and my grandfather at Waterloo? Yes, I had need to be brave."
CHAPTER XXI
While Aunt Penelope talked my heart beat very hard. From time to time I could not help glancing at Vernon. Was he guessing my thoughts – was he understanding?
He stood with his back to us, looking out of the window. Once or twice he whistled a little, he whistled a bar of a popular melody; then he thrust his hands into his pockets, turned swiftly round, took up a newspaper, flung himself into a chair, and pretended to read. I might have felt vexed with him, I might even have accused him of want of sympathy, if I had not suddenly noticed that he was holding the paper upside down – he was not reading at all. He was in reality as excited and troubled as I was myself. My heart warmed to him with a great glow when I observed this. I felt what good, what splendid friends we would be in the future, how like nobody else in all the world he was, and what a lucky, very lucky, girl I was to have won him. But no – even at the risk of losing my own happiness I would not leave my father to the mercies of Lady Helen. Unless that matter could be put right, I would not marry my darling Vernon. The thought brought a great soreness into my heart, and I felt the tears pricking my eyes from behind, and I was glad when our time of suspense was over, for the same flunkey who had opened the door for us now appeared, standing on the threshold of the little room where we had taken refuge, and said:
"Lady Helen's compliments, and she will be pleased to give you an audience, Miss Dalrymple."
"I am coming, too. Does her ladyship know?" inquired Aunt Penelope.
"She said Miss Dalrymple," replied the man.
"Nonsense!" said Aunt Penelope. "We'll all come, my good man. Will you have the kindness to show the way? Now march, please; although you're wearing such a smart livery, you're not nearly such a good servant as my boy Jonas."
The man's name was Robert, and he was one of the most superior servants of the house, and I really felt annoyed with Aunt Penelope for attacking him in this fashion. He got very red, but then his eyes met mine, and something in my eyes must have begged of him to be patient, for he certainly was patient, and then, without another word, he went before us, and we three followed, and a minute or two later we were in Lady Helen's presence.
I was at once relieved and surprised to find that my father was not there. It happened to be a very hot day; it was now July, and London was suffering from a spell of intensely hot weather. Lady Helen's sitting-room looked very cool and inviting. There were soft, bluey-green blinds draped across the windows – the effect was a sort of bluey-grey mist, at once refreshing and becoming. There were quantities of flowers in the room, so much so that Aunt Penelope began to sniff at once. She sniffed audibly, and said in a loud aside to Vernon:
"No wonder the poor woman looks ill; such a strong smell of flowers is bad for anyone."
Lady Helen herself was in a most wonderful make-up that morning. She had a very elegant figure, notwithstanding her years. She was dressed in the extreme height of the prevailing mode, and looked – that is, until the full light of day shone upon her – like a woman who was between forty and fifty, at most. She must have been wearing a completely new arrangement on her head; I cannot call it her own hair, for I happened to know that it was only hers in the sense that she had honestly paid for it. It was of a pale golden shade; when last I saw her she was wearing chestnut curls. This coiffure was arranged in the most becoming manner on the top of her head, and fell in soft little ringlets round her ears and about her neck. Her dress was of the "coat and skirt" style, cut in tailor fashion, and extremely smart. On the back of her golden head she wore an enormous black crinoline hat, trimmed with great ostrich tips; altogether her appearance was too wonderful for Aunt Penelope to bear long with patience. She was standing up as we entered the room, and now she came quickly towards us.
"How do you do, Heather?" she said to me. "I am quite willing to see you again, but this lady and this gentleman!"
"You know me very well, Lady Helen," said Vernon. "I am that Captain Carbury who stood by your brother's death-bed – who hold his written confession, and who is about to marry Heather Grayson."
"All nonsense, all nonsense!" said Lady Helen.
"But I thought – " I began.
Lady Helen looked at Aunt Penelope.
"It does not matter what you think, Heather; you are only a child. May I be informed who this lady is – the lady who has dared to come into my presence uninvited?"
"My name, madam, is Miss Despard, and I am real own aunt to Heather Grayson. Heather Grayson's mother, the first wife of Major Grayson, happened to be my sister. I presume therefore, madam, that I have a right over this young girl, more particularly as she lived with me, and I trained her, and educated her from the time she was eight years old until she was eighteen."
"Ah, yes," said Lady Helen in a soft voice; "that dreadful time, those ten terrible years!"
"We all know the story of those years; you are, of course, aware of that," said Captain Carbury at that moment.
Lady Helen gave him a quick glance.
"Yes," she said suddenly. "You observe my dress. I am in mourning for my dear one."
Her voice trembled for a minute. I looked at her and saw that she was really sorry for the man who was dead.
"He is in his grave," she continued, "poor, dear Gideon! We did what we could for him, your father and I. Now our one desire is to let his poor bones rest in peace."
"Perhaps it is, madam," said Vernon just then, "but there are other people who have a say in the matter. Now, Heather, it is time for you to speak."
I looked at Lady Helen and took my courage in my hands.
"Stepmother – "
"Oh! You acknowledge that I am your stepmother? Well, what have you to say for yourself? You have been a nice stepdaughter to me!"
"I could not help it," I said. "I never intended to be nasty to you."
"Well, I don't wish to complain. But who gave you all the good things you enjoyed, your dress, your home, your fun, your pleasure, your good time all round? Answer me that question – who gave you those things?"
"You did."
"Ah! I'm glad you acknowledge it."
"Of course I acknowledge it."
"And do you think you have behaved well to me in return? Because I did the very best possible for you and because a needy, poor man, almost a pauper, for he has practically no private means, came and demanded your hand, and your father and I considered it an improper and unsuitable request, you took the bit between your teeth, and, without a word, without a hint, ran away. Never shall I forget our return from Brighton and the agony that your poor father, whom you profess to love, was in. You ran away. Why did you run away?"
"Because I couldn't do what you wanted."
"And you did even worse," continued Lady Helen, "for I have discovered everything. You had the audacity, the impropriety – you, a young girl – to go to Lord Hawtrey's, and to try to interview him. Oh, yes; I have heard that story, and I know what it means; and a nice meaning it has for you, miss – a very nice meaning, indeed!"
"You broke my heart and went away to the country and took father with you," I said. "I could think of no one else. I went to him because I knew he was a gentleman, and would act as such."
"Suppose we come to the matter in hand," interrupted Vernon, who was getting impatient at all this dallying.
"Yes, that's right, Vernon; that's right. Keep her to the point," exclaimed Aunt Penelope.
I looked back at them both. Aunt Penelope's bright eyes were like little pin points in her head; they were fixed on Lady Helen's got-up face. She had really never before, in the whole course of her life, met such a woman. She was studying her from every point of view.
"I have come here, stepmother," I said, "to tell you that I – I – know all the story with regard to my – my darling father. Vernon has told me, and Vernon and I have made up our minds to marry, and father has given his consent, and we mean to be married, if all comes right, in about – "
"Best say a week, Heather," interrupted Vernon.
"In about a fortnight from now," I continued.
"Well, if you must put it off so long," he remarked, leaning back in his chair.
"But the question I have come here to-day to ask is this," I continued. "What is to become of my father?"
"The more proper thing for you to say, Heather Dalrymple, is this: What is to become of the man who has had the good fortune to marry Lady Helen Dalrymple?"
"But I don't think it a good fortune at all," I said. "Oh, Lady Helen, I must speak the truth; I can't beat about the bush any longer. My dear, my darling father is not a bit happy, not a bit! He did what he did – oh! it was so noble of him! – to – save your brother – I know the whole story. Oh, he was a hero! But must all his life be sacrificed because he is a hero? Your brother is in his grave; give my own dad back his freedom; let him come and live with Vernon and me!"
"Upon my word, I never heard of such a request in all my life!"
"But you will do it," I said. "There need be no scandal; you can go abroad or anywhere you like, and I am sure father will visit you sometimes, and no one need think anything about that, and – and you know you're not really fond of father, because if you were you would not make him so terribly unhappy. Oh, do let him come and live with us!"
"You take my breath away! You are the most audacious, dreadful girl I ever came across. What do you take me for?"
"Lady Helen, I know you have a heart somewhere."
She looked at me. The rims round her eyes were blackened, her eyebrows were artificially darkened, her face was powdered – could I get at any soul behind that much bedecked exterior? Bedecked, do I call it? Disfigured is the word I ought to use.
"Lady Helen," I said suddenly, "give my father his happiness! Don't, oh, don't be cruel to him any longer, I beg of you, I beseech of you!"
"Child, don't make a fool of yourself." Lady Helen rose.
"Listen, you good people," she said. "This little Heather Dalrymple, my stepdaughter, would never have thought of such an absurd and ridiculous scheme but for you; you, Miss Despard, and you, Captain Carbury, thought this thing out. You wanted to drag me before the world as a woman separated from her husband; you thought to disgrace me before the eyes of the world, and you imagined that I would obey the whim of a child. I know better. Heather, I distinctly and once for all refuse your request."
"Then, madam, it is my turn to say something," cried Vernon.
"You must say it pretty quickly, sir, for my motor-car will be round in a few minutes."
"I fear your car must wait. You have an important matter to listen to. It is this. You love your brother, and we all, even the most hardened of us, have a feeling of respect towards the dead. But I can at least assure you that there is such a thing as even greater respect for the living who have been wronged, and the entire story of Major Grayson's conduct shall be published before the world unless you agree to what this young lady proposes. He will come out very much a hero, I fancy; but your conduct in the matter will not be quite so gratifying to you and your friends."
"I echo every single word that Captain Carbury says!" exclaimed Aunt Penelope. "I am very outspoken, and from first to last I have always detested everything I have heard about you, Lady Helen; and now that I see you I hate you more than ever. It would give me sincere pleasure to drag your crime into the light. What right had you to work on the feelings of the most tender-hearted of men in order to save your brother from the shame and the punishment his sin deserved? My poor noble brother-in-law volunteered to take your wicked brother's place. Why, Lady Helen, it was a Christ-like deed! The least he can get for the rest of his days, poor fellow, is peace and happiness. Oh, yes, you can refuse, but the moment you do so the whole of this affair shall be placed in the hands of my solicitors, for I am determined that my brother-in-law and my niece's father shall no longer be considered unworthy to be a true soldier of our late Queen."
"You can leave me," said Lady Helen. "Go at once, all three of you; don't attempt to stay another moment in my presence. You drive me mad! Go – go – go! Oh, I shall have hysterics! I – Heather, ring the bell; my maid must come to me; I feel the attack coming on. Oh, you awful people! Heather, you can stay if you like; you don't mean to be cruel, I know you don't. I who have suffered so sorely – I who am broken-hearted! But leave me, you two others; leave me at once – at once!"
"Not until my niece goes with me do I stir one step out of this room," said Aunt Penelope.
"Well, Heather child, if you must go you must. Oh, try to turn their wicked, cruel hearts! but I – yes I – "
"What do you mean to do?" said Vernon. "You haven't told us that yet."
"Nothing, I tell you – nothing. You can't be so cruel – so monstrous!"
"Miss Despard's address is 90a, Torrington Square, W.C.," said Vernon, in his calmest voice; "that address will find her and Heather and me any time between now and noon to-morrow. If at noon to-morrow we have not heard from you, we shall be forced to draw our own conclusions – namely, that you have refused to consider Heather's most natural petition, that she should be allowed to make her father happy. It will then be our duty to put the matter absolutely into the hands of Messrs. Fenchurch and Grace, Miss Despard's solicitors."
Lady Helen sank back again in her chair, her eyes shone with feverish hate.
"Leave me, you terrible people!" she said. "Go, all of you!"
We went.
