AN ACCIDENT IN THE HUNTING-FIELD.
IT was not surprising that Mrs. Stanton should seem sorely depressed
after the arrival of the mail from Australia. The news it brought was
of the worst. The bankruptcy of the large mercantile house was utter;
nothing could be saved from the wreck for the widow and children of the
senior partner. They might console themselves with the thought that
they were not the only sufferers. Upon every one connected with the
business, loss had fallen, and in most cases, it meant ruin.
It was easy to find cause for blame, and public opinion did not spare
the principals. Mrs. Stanton might count it a fortunate circumstance
that the broad seas now separated her from the social circle at
Melbourne which had formerly courted and flattered her.
Aldyth could not wonder that her mother shed many tears over the
letters which told all that could be told of her husband's last hours,
and gave particulars of the interment. She could comprehend her
mother's nervousness and irritability, the evidence of sleepless nights
and wearing emotions. But she could not understand the aversion her
mother seemed to have conceived for Guy Lorraine.
That gentleman made his call at the Hall not long after his
introduction to Gladys. On the first occasion, Mrs. Stanton declined to
see him, but Guy, considering himself one of the family, came again and
again, bent on making himself agreeable, and eager to be of service to
the new residents, so that it was not easy for Mrs. Stanton to avoid
him. She sat on thorns whilst he was present, and his departure was the
signal for an outbreak of bitter comments on his dulness, awkwardness,
and general lack of social graces. Yet she always maintained an outward
show of cordiality towards him. Indeed, it seemed to Aldyth that her
mother was especially careful to fail in no courtesy with regard to
Guy, and she interpreted this as a sign that her mother shared her
regretful consciousness of the loss her inheritance had involved for
Guy.
Gladys was ready enough to raise a laugh at Guy's expense, yet his
visits were not disagreeable to her. It pleased her to play off upon
him her most fascinating airs, with a result highly gratifying to her
vanity. He had been struck with admiration at the first sight of her,
and he readily succumbed to her fascinations. Ere Hilda Bland returned
to her home, he was utterly, hopelessly enslaved by his new charmer.
The fire kindled within him was, as Aldyth was quick to perceive, no
spurious flame. He was genuinely in love at last, and Aldyth could
almost pity him, little as he deserved pity, for she saw no hope of his
wooing successfully. It was not to be supposed that Mrs. Stanton would
allow her pretty Gladys to wed a mere farmer.
Yet Mrs. Stanton did not discourage the intimacy to the extent
Aldyth expected. She was fretful with her daughter when she showed a
preference for Guy's society; but she did not endeavour to prevent
their meeting. Gladys would have found her days dull at Wyndham but for
his frequent visits.
There were few other visitors during the early days of their
bereavement. Mr. Greenwood, and his brother, the solicitor, came
pretty frequently, and were welcome guests, although their visits were
ostensibly on business. The banker's large house in the High Street
seemed grievously large and vacant to him without the wife who had made
it so cheerful a home. Aldyth was a great favourite with him, and he
was perhaps, glad that his office of executor to Stephen Lorraine's
will afforded him many pretexts for visiting her at Wyndham. The
evenings spent in her pretty drawing room, with three charming women
exerting themselves for his entertainment, were a pleasant contrast to
those he passed in dreariness at home.
The rides which Gladys took almost daily were her chief source of
pleasure in this quiet season. Dearly as she loved the exercise,
Aldyth could seldom accompany her, for her mother, shrinking more and
more from being left to her own thoughts, constantly required her
companionship. Aldyth was content to forego her own pleasure; it was so
sweet to feel that her mother needed her.
Meanwhile the pretty form of Gladys, mounted on Pansy—she nearly always
rode Pansy—with a groom following on another horse, became a familiar
sight at Woodham; for she loved the slight sensation she created when
she rode down the High Street. Not seldom she returned from her ride
accompanied by Guy, who was ever on the watch for a chance of meeting
her. It vexed Mrs. Stanton to see her return so escorted; but if she
gave expression to her annoyance, Gladys only laughed and told her
mother not to be afraid, she knew what she was about.
"I do not think I am exactly the one to wed a country bumpkin," she
said one day. "It would be different, would it not, mamma, if he had
been the heir to Wyndham?"
It was an aimless shaft of satire, but it found a mark of which she
little guessed. Her mother's face blanched; a spasm as of positive pain
passed over it. Gladys saw and wondered. What had she said? Surely
nothing worse than many of her careless speeches?
"It is not fair to call Guy a bumpkin," said Aldyth, who was present.
"Perhaps not," replied Gladys; "but he is a farmer, is he not? Can you
fancy me a farmer's wife, with my sleeves turned up, making butter?"
"No, I cannot," said Aldyth, and laughed—it was impossible to take
Gladys seriously—"but I do not think Guy will expect his wife to make
the butter; there are few farmers wives who do that nowadays."
Mrs. Stanton breathed more freely as she heard their light talk. Had
she betrayed herself? No, they could never suspect it; but the terrible
pressure of her secret! At times it was insupportable.
Christmas was within hail ere Kitty and Hilda Bland came home. After
their return from the Continent, they had made a long stay in London.
Hilda's health and spirits had revived somewhat amidst fresh scenes and
acquaintances; but the coming back was a trial to her, and she would
not nerve herself to bear it bravely. It would be hard to face her
little world again, and hers was a nature that seeks to avoid hardship.
"Oh, Aldyth, I cannot live here!" she cried when first they met.
"Woodham is hateful to me now. Do try if you can persuade mother that I
should be better away. If only she would let me be trained as a nurse!"
"Would you really like that?" Aldyth asked.
"As much as I could like anything; it would be something to do."
"You would find it very hard work, I fear. Hilda, I have an idea in my
head of some work in which you might help me."
"What is it?" Hilda asked, without much interest.
"There is a cottage half a mile from Wyndham, on the edge of the
common. A gamekeeper used to live in it; but it has been empty some
time. There are three good rooms below and above. I am thinking of
putting it in thorough repair and converting it into a country home
for my factory girls. It would do some of those poor overworked girls
so much good to spend a few weeks in the country. I can rely on Mrs.
Wheatley to find out those who most need it, and send them down to me.
Now, do you not think it a good idea?"
"Yes, it is," said Hilda, without, however, manifesting any enthusiasm.
"I shall have to find a good motherly woman to take charge of the
home," said Aldyth too full of the matter to be chilled by Hilda's lack
of interest. "Of course I cannot open it till the spring, but once
started, I see no reason why we should not have guests there nearly all
the year round. There is a pretty little garden before the house, and
ground enough behind to grow all the vegetables that will be needed."
Aldyth checked herself she became aware that Hilda was paying no heed
to what she said. They were seated in the bow-window of Mrs. Bland's
drawing room, and Hilda's attention was arrested by two riders who were
passing the house. The painful flush which had risen in Hilda's face
proclaimed the individuality of the gentleman.
"Who is that with him?" she asked, in a hurried whisper.
"Gladys, my sister," Aldyth said.
"Oh, Aldyth, what does it mean?" poor Hilda asked.
"Don't distress yourself," replied Aldyth. "Their being together has
no particular significance, only I will not disguise from you that
Gladys's society has a strong attraction for Guy."
Hilda burst into tears.
"Oh, Aldyth, and you would have me stay at Woodham!"
After that, it was not surprising that Hilda abandoned herself afresh
to melancholy, sank back into a semi-invalid state, resolutely refused
all invitations, and in a variety of ways tried the patience of her
mother and Kitty.
It was a pleasure to Aldyth to welcome Nelly, and Cecil also for a few
days, to her home at Christmas.
Gwendolen Bland, too, was at home, and despite the distance of Wyndham
Hall from Woodham, she and Kitty were often with Aldyth and her
sisters. The girls made a lively party together. Gladys and Kitty
took to each other and became good friends. They often rode together,
dispensing with the attendance of the groom, which Mrs. Stanton
insisted upon when Gladys rode alone.
Mrs. Stanton was well pleased that Kitty should be Gladys's companion,
for Kitty held herself haughtily aloof from Guy Lorraine, resenting his
conduct towards her sister, so that despite his sangfroid, he could
hardly thrust his company upon her.
The hunting season brought the girls a new excitement. Gladys was an
accomplished and fearless rider, and Kitty not a whit behind her in
daring. They set their hearts upon following the hounds.
Mrs. Stanton expressed some disapproval, but did not forbid Gladys to
hunt, perhaps being doubtful of her power to restrain her daughter from
doing as she wished.
Mrs. Bland's consent was more difficult to win. She had a nervous dread
of accident, and at first would not hear of such a thing. But in a weak
hour, the combined persuasions of Gladys and Kitty overcame her better
judgment. She was induced to consent for "just this once," and after
that, Kitty contrived to follow the hounds as often as she desired. The
two young ladies, Gladys charmingly equipped and fascinating all the
gentlemen with her grace and spirit, were to be seen at most of the
meets in the neighbourhood.
Admiring comments on their riding reached the ears of their mothers,
and even Mrs. Bland felt some pride, for which she afterwards bitterly
reproached herself, in her daughter's bold horsemanship. She ceased to
feel much fear, remembering how well the girls rode, and that they had
promised to do nothing rash.
"This is the last time, mother; really the last time," cried Kitty
Bland, one bright morning in February, as she came down stairs in her
riding habit and hat and met her mother's reproving shake of the head.
Her words were truer than she knew.
The sun was shining in at the bay window, but the air outside was sharp
with frost, and Hilda with a woollen shawl about her shoulders was
hanging over the fire. A warm colour glowed in Kitty's face. The cold
only exhilarated her. She looked so fresh and strong and glad as she
stood at the window, impatiently flourishing her whip, eager to be in
the saddle and off.
"I wish you would shut the door," said Hilda, in a pettish tone. "You
never think that any one else is in the room."
"All right; here's Gladys. I'm off now," cried Kitty. "Good-bye!"
Hilda hardly took the trouble to respond. She had risen in a miserable
humour, but had anything been needed to complete her dissatisfaction,
the mention of Gladys would have been enough. It annoyed her to hear
the girl's merry tones greeting Mrs. Bland, who stood at the door to
watch Kitty mount.
"We shall have a lovely run; the day is perfect," Gladys said.
A burst of merry laughter followed some remark of Mrs. Bland's, and
then the girls moved off. Hilda saw them pass the window, for the
meet to-day was at an old manor form, "down the Hundreds." A low moan
escaped her.
"Some girls have everything that heart can wish," she said to herself.
"It is good to be Kitty. She is for ever off to some pleasure or other.
She has never known a trouble; if she had, she might understand my
feelings."
Ere the day was over Hilda recalled these thoughts with bitter pain.
A terrible shock roused her from her self-absorption; for three hours
later, Kitty was carried insensible across the threshold of her home.
Her horse had fallen with her, and she was seriously injured—how
seriously could not yet be ascertained; but her condition was such as
gave rise to the worst fears.
Aldyth learned the news an hour later, when Gladys, white and
shivering, came home attended by Guy, who had been at hand when the
accident happened, and had rendered all the service in his power.
Gladys was too shocked and confused to give a clear account of what
had happened. "I only know that the hounds were in full cry, and we
were tearing after them. I saw a fence—it was not very high—and I never
thought of there being a ditch the other side. 'Come, Kitty,' I cried,
'we can do this,' and went for it. I fancy some one called to me to
stop."
"I shouted to you," said Guy. "I thought you must be mad to go at it
like that."
He wished he could recall the words when he saw Gladys's face become
convulsed with grief. He would not willingly have added to her pain.
"I was mad!" she sobbed, hysterically. "I was wild with excitement; I
felt no fear even when I saw what a leap it was Pansy was taking. But
the next moment there was a crash, a cry, and I saw that Kitty's horse
had fallen in the ditch, and she was beneath him. Oh, the horror of it!
I can never forget it. She looked like death when they lifted her."
"Oh, do not say so!" implored Aldyth. She turned to Guy in an agony of
fear. "It is not so bad as that? She will recover?"
"God grant she may!" he murmured, more moved than she had ever seen
him. "But—it was enough to kill her."
And that was all the comfort Aldyth could gleam from them.