MASTER FRED.
The reverie which followed this, to me, astounding revelation resulted
in the decision that it was my duty to tell Mr. Lovett what I had
overheard. I hardly know, at this period, whether I did right or
wrong—whether I should have shown more wisdom in speaking to Tessie or
to Ange herself—whether, in fact, any other course of action could have
averted the calamity that so quickly followed it. But it can be well
understood how difficult a part I had to play in warning my friends
against the man who had wronged me. A thousand times during that night I
told myself that I could not do it; that my motives would be
misinterpreted, and that if Cave Charteris had failed in his allegiance
to me, it was no reason he should be untrue to Angela Lovett. She
evidently liked him. No girl of her modesty and virtuous bringing up
could have said the words I had heard her say unless she meant them from
the bottom of her heart. Yet she was so easily deceived. She was so much
too credulous of the goodness of human nature to be fit to judge for
herself. Had it been Tessie whom Charteris had selected for his
attentions, I should have left them to their own devices. Tessie knew
something of the world: her eyes had been opened to a part, at least, of
its iniquity; but Ange was a perfect child, both in mind and experience.
The complete faith she put in her father’s saintliness was a proof of
this, and I felt sure, upon reviewing the discovery I had made, that she
would never have kept her relations with Mr. Charteris a secret from
those she so much loved and trusted, had he not brought some powerful
motive to bear upon her reticence.
What could he have said to persuade this child, who was all frank,
ingenuous simplicity, that it was right to hold secret appointments with
himself? And why, if his intentions towards her were what they should
be, had he not at once avowed them to Mr. Lovett? He was free and
independent—at liberty to choose a wife as he listed—and he could have
no fear that the poverty-stricken minister would object to see one of
his daughters well provided for.
The more I thought of it, the more I felt persuaded that something was
wrong. A terrible fear took hold of me that Ange was in similar danger
to that I had passed through—perhaps worse, Heaven only knew. And when
daylight dawned I had made up my mind, whatever happened, to inform my
reverend guardian of what I had seen and heard.
The task was anything but a pleasant one. As I have already mentioned,
since the adventure of the twenty-five francs, I had had little or
nothing to say to Mr. Lovett, and I saw that he regarded me with
suspicion and dislike. It was for the sake of Ange alone that I
conquered my aversion to enter upon any but general topics with him, and
small thanks as I expected to receive in return for my moral courage,
the event proved that I had over-rated the little interest he had left
in me.
Breakfast was over, and the moment had arrived in which to attack him.
Ange, who had been looking unusually pale and languid during the meal,
and had scarcely eaten anything, announced her intention of spending the
morning with Jeanne Guillot, the mother of the little child that had
died of fever, though I wronged the poor girl by believing that she was
going to walk with Cave Charteris instead.
‘Why do you let your sister go to those infected cottages?’ I demanded,
almost sharply, of Tessie; ‘you had much better keep her at home. She
will catch her death there some day, and then you will be sorry.’
Tessie regarded me with mild surprise.
‘Why, Hilda, the fever is not infectious! The doctor says it is purely
due to the effects of the long dry summer we have had! And where should
Ange be, but amongst those who have suffered from it? The people would
not know what had come to St. Pucelle if they missed _petite_ Ange from
their sides when they were in trouble.’
‘Oh! very well! Do as you choose, but don’t blame me afterwards,’ I
responded curtly; for I felt very sore on the subject, and was ready to
think Tessie a fool for not being more alive to the moral and physical
risks which her sister ran.
They all disappeared after this, and I would not inquire even where they
were going. Mr. Lovett and I were left alone in the _salle_, and I might
have spoken to him, perhaps, without interruption, but I wished him to
attach as much importance as possible to the communication I was about
to make.
‘Mr. Lovett,’ I commenced, ‘I have something of the greatest consequence
to tell you. When will it be convenient for you to listen to me?’
I suppose he thought I was going to speak again about my money matters,
for I could see the impatient jerk of the shoulders with which he
answered:
‘I can anticipate what you are about to say, my dear Hilda; and can
assure you that as soon as your dividends——’
‘No, no, it is not that!’ I interrupted eagerly. ‘I don’t want money,
because Mr. Warrington has sent me some to go on with.’
I am afraid this was a false move. I saw that my guardian took it in
anything but good part by the way in which he frowned at me.
So you have applied to Mr. Warrington on the subject.’
‘I did not ask him for any money, if that is what you mean. He sent it
me spontaneously. But that has nothing to do with my present business.
Can I speak to you alone?’
‘You can say what you wish, although I cannot imagine what else of a
private nature you can have to communicate to me.’
‘You will soon find out. But I cannot tell it to you here, with every
door and window open.’
‘This is very strange,’ he remarked. ‘Where would you have me go?’
‘Will you come into my bedroom, or may I accompany you in your walk?’
‘The last will be the least remarkable proceeding,’ he replied, as he
rose to find his hat and stick.
In a few minutes we were on the highroad together. When it came to the
point I found it very difficult to begin; but I had made up my mind that
I was right, and was determined to go through with it.
‘Mr. Lovett,’ I said, ‘do you approve of confession?’
‘Well, that is rather a difficult question to answer. I approve of it
for the Church of which it forms a law, but not for its own particular
merits.’
‘But do you hold with the sacredness of its obligations to secrecy?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Then will you consider that what I am about to tell you is under the
seal of confession, and promise me beforehand to keep my communication
private?’
‘If it relates to yourself, I will.’
‘I only claim your secrecy on behalf of myself. You have heard that Mr.
Charteris and I knew each other many years ago; and perhaps I ought to
have told you before now, Mr. Lovett, that in those days he professed to
be attached to me.’
‘I don’t see what business that is of mine, my dear Hilda.’
‘Yes, it is your business, because he greatly deceived me, and you have
daughters whom he might treat in the same manner. For months my mother
and I believed that Cave Charteris intended to marry me; but it all came
to nothing, and for many years his desertion was the source of my
bitterest trouble.’
‘In that case, I should think the less you say about it the better; and
I cannot at all imagine why you should have chosen to make me the
confidant of so unpleasant a portion of your history.’
There was so much coldness and selfishness in his words, so little
sympathy or interest in his voice, that I looked at him with
astonishment. Was this the bland, soft-toned old gentleman whom I had
heard talking with such benign pity and charity for all mankind, and who
now had apparently not one syllable of compassion or reproach for the
heartless marring of a young girl’s life? I was so angry with him for
the manner in which he had received my communication, that I did not
care what I said.
‘Then I will tell you, sir,’ I went on hotly. ‘The reason I have
troubled you with an account of my sufferings at Mr. Charteris’s hands,
is because I have every reason to believe that he is carrying on the
same game with your daughter Ange.’
Mr. Lovett stopped short in his walk, and, leaning on his stick, turned
round and regarded me fully. I can recall the cold light in his blue
eyes, and the fixed look of his marble features as he did so, to this
day.
‘What proofs have you to advance for the truth of what you say?’ he
demanded, in the most frigid tones.
‘I was sitting at my bedroom window last night when they met in the
courtyard. I could not help overhearing their conversation, and I am
quite convinced that he is persuading Ange to love him. I lay awake all
night, thinking what was best for me to do; and I decided that, at all
events, you ought to be told of what is going on between them.’
‘You lay awake all night, you mean, plotting how you might best destroy
an innocent young girl’s happiness, in revenge for having missed your
own.’
‘Oh, Mr. Lovett!’ I cried, horrified at the interpretation he had put
upon my words. ‘How can you think so! I love Ange dearly: I would do
anything to secure her happiness; and as for my own, it is very long
since it was connected with Cave Charteris. I believe him to be neither
good nor true. I do not consider he is capable of making any girl happy;
and all I beg of you is to watch over Ange, and to see he does not teach
her what is wrong. If he is an honourable suitor, why should he not make
known his wishes concerning her to you?’
‘I am not prepared to discuss such delicate questions with a young lady,
and one who evidently bears no goodwill towards the supposed offender.
You seem to have overlooked one thing, Miss Marsh, in mentioning Mr.
Charteris: and that is, that you were speaking of a friend of mine.’
‘Is it possible you are going to take his part against your own child!’
I exclaimed, in amazement.
‘I have yet to be convinced that I _am_ taking it against my own child.
All the information I have received has come through a woman who, by her
own account, has every motive for jealousy, and is an eavesdropper into
the bargain.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Lovett!’ I said grandly. ‘I am much obliged to you for
your good opinion. I shall not soon forget that I tried to do you a
benefit, and you credited me with the worst of feelings in return. I see
what I believe to be wrong, and I tell you of it, simply from a sense of
duty, and a desire to preserve your daughter from a similar fate to
mine. But since you choose to misinterpret my meaning in so gross a
manner, I shall interfere no further in the matter.’
‘I beg you will _not_,’ he replied sternly. ‘I have every faith in the
honour of Mr. Charteris and of my daughter, and require no assistance in
looking after their interests.’
‘You resent my confidence, then, as an insult.’
‘I cannot help seeing that it has been actuated by lower motives than
you would have me believe. I do not discredit what you have told me; but
I am perfectly content to leave such things to Providence and the good
principles in which Ange has been brought up.’
‘You wish her, in fact, to marry Cave Charteris?’
‘I know nothing as yet to make me _not_ wish it.’
‘You do not consider his dishonourable conduct to myself any drawback to
his becoming the lover of Ange?’
‘I should like, before I pronounced any opinion on the subject, to be
assured that you did not deceive yourself in the matter. Young women are
sometimes apt to make a mistake about gentlemen’s attentions. And even
if you are right, by your own showing it happened several years ago, and
we may charitably conclude that Mr. Charteris’s character has
strengthened and improved during the interval.’
‘I am very sorry I took the trouble to speak to you,’ I said bitterly.
And I was exceedingly sorry. I had meant to do good, and I had done
nothing but harm. Mr. Lovett evidently liked the idea of Cave Charteris
entangling himself with Ange, and perhaps he had even seen what was
going on and encouraged it; and I stood in the despicable light of an
eavesdropper and scandalmonger, who was actuated by jealousy to play the
spy! I could have cried with vexation and indignation, and, indeed, for
a while I had not sufficient command over myself to continue the
conversation.
‘There is one thing I must request of you, my dear Hilda,’ Mr. Lovett
went on mildly: ‘and that is, not to mention this subject to my
daughter. It is neither necessary nor delicate—and, in fact, I must
forbid it.’
‘You need not be afraid, sir. I shall never interfere with anything
concerning either of them again.’
‘That is right. It would vex Tessie beyond measure to hear her sister’s
actions discussed in this free manner, and it might ruin Ange’s
prospects for life.’
‘I shall leave you to manage them both for the future without any
assistance from me,’ I said, turning away, ‘but, mark my words, Mr.
Lovett, you will live to regret this day.’
As I walked homewards by myself I wondered I had been so bold, but I
would not have said one word less had the interview come over again. I
read the old man’s selfishness at a glance. He was afraid of losing
Charteris as a boarder and money-lender if he brought him to book for
his actions, and he preferred to risk his innocent little daughter’s
happiness to giving up a few of his creature-comforts.
How despicable and mean he appeared to me as I reviewed the conversation
that had just taken place between us.
I was hurrying home, with my eyes on the ground and my thoughts all
engrossed with the subject in hand, when I was attracted by a loud
shouting and hallooing, and, looking up, perceived some one in front of
me long and lanky, waving his arms round and round like a windmill.
‘Hollo, Miss Marsh! don’t you know me?’ he exclaimed; and then I
recognised my youthful companion of the steamboat, Master Frederick
Stephenson.
‘Why, Master Fred, is that really you?’ I said, as I shook hands with
him. ‘I believe you have grown, even in the short time since I saw you.
And does your cousin expect you? He said nothing to us about it.’
‘Expect me! Not he, the scrubby fellow! He promised a dozen times that
he’d ask me over here for a day’s shooting, and I’ve written almost
every week to remind him, but ’twas no go. So I got old Felton to give
me a holiday, and took French leave; and here I am, and if Cave don’t
like it, he can do the other thing, for I don’t mean to go back till my
time’s up.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘Last train this evening; but I say, by Jove! Miss Marsh, how jolly you
look! You’re twice as fat as you were when we crossed over together, and
you’ve got such a colour. You’re first rate, you are.’
‘Am I?’ I said, hardly able to help laughing at the rough compliment,
though I felt so sad. ‘I am glad you think so, Fred, for I would much
rather look nice to my friends than nasty.’
‘Well, you do look nice, then, and no mistake. And are both the Miss
Lovetts at home?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m in luck, by George! won’t that beggar Charteris be surprised to see
me walk in! I’d a mind to show him I was not going to be humbugged in
that way. He thought he’d keep all the fun to himself, I suppose.’
‘I am afraid you have not come on a shooting-day, at least I heard
nothing about it this morning.’
‘I don’t mind. I’d rather stay with you. Is that the house? It _is_
pretty! Just like an old Swiss châlet. And, by the way, Miss Marsh, how
do you get on with old Lovett?’ concluded the young gentleman, with a
peculiar twinkle in his eye.
‘Oh! very well. How should I get on with him?’
‘Isn’t he a good, pious, benevolent, amiable old gentleman, eh? Isn’t he
self-denying, and prudent, and saving, and all that sort of thing?’
‘Hold your tongue, sir,’ I replied, ‘and don’t speak in that way of your
betters.’
For all the windows and doors were open, and I had no wish that Tessie
or Ange should overhear the remarks of my impudent young friend.
‘My _betters_!’ reiterated Master Fred. ‘Oh! come now, Miss Marsh, do
draw it mild.’
‘I hope you are not going to indulge us with that sort of schoolboy
slang all dinner-time, or you will shock the Miss Lovetts,’ I told him,
‘and, if I am not much mistaken, you will offend your cousin also.’
‘Ah! the elegant and accomplished Cave. Yes, I shouldn’t wonder if I
did, and it would not be the first time either. But I see his cropped
flaxen poll bobbing up at the window. By Jove! didn’t he look black when
he caught sight of me! I’m in for it, Miss Marsh, and no mistake; but I
rather like a row than otherwise. There’s so little excitement about
here, that one’s digestion is ruined for want of it.’
‘Oh! I hope you won’t have a row,’ I replied; but when we entered the
_salle_, where Mr. Charteris was seated with the two girls, I was really
afraid Master Fred’s prophecy would come true. I could not account for
the extreme annoyance that clouded his cousin’s face at the sight of
him. It could not have arisen simply from the fact of the boy having
made his appearance without leave, and yet one would have thought he had
committed the most serious offence by doing so.
‘Well, Cave, you don’t look over and above pleased to see me!’ exclaimed
the lad, as soon as he had renewed his acquaintance with the Lovett
girls.
‘I can’t say I am. Why didn’t you wait till I sent for you, instead of
running over in this unceremonious fashion?’
‘Wait till you sent for me! I fancy I might have waited till the crack
of doom, in that case. Why, how much longer do you intend to remain here
yourself?’
‘I don’t know, and it’s no concern of yours,’ replied Charteris, with
visible annoyance.
‘Of course not! You’re your own master, and the longer you stay away the
better, at least for those at home.’
‘Now, Fred, I don’t want any of your nonsense. Please to understand
that.’
‘I can’t give you sense if I haven’t got it. But my dad writes me word
that they’ve a clean bill of health down at Parkhurst now, and that Mary
is very anxious to see you back again.’
If Charteris had been suddenly shot he could hardly have jumped up more
quickly than he did at these words.
‘Fred, my boy!’ he exclaimed, with a total change of manner, ‘don’t you
want to have a little shooting in the forest?’
‘Well, of course I do, if it’s possible! But I didn’t expect to get it,
as I came over without warning.’
‘I should like to oblige you if I can, but if we are to do anything we
must start at once. I left my guns up at the château, and we must call
for them on our way. Are you game for a long walk, Fred?’
‘Pretty well! but is there any such hurry?’ Can’t we get an hour or two
after _goûter_? I’m no great shakes with a gun, you know, Cave—not a
bigwig like you or the Baron—so that I dare say I shall have had enough
of it long before you have. And I’m so hungry.’
‘Bother your hunger! we can get something up at the château. If you want
to shoot, say so; and if you don’t, you’d better go back to Rille, for
there’s no other amusement for you at St. Pucelle.’
I could not imagine why he should be so cross with the lad, and Tessie
and Ange seemed as puzzled as myself. Fred Stephenson was nothing but a
boy—troublesome, no doubt, and often saucy, as boys will be—but a frank,
gentlemanly young fellow that no man need have been ashamed to own as a
relation. As Mr. Charteris spoke to him in the rough way related, he
stood silent for a moment, and then said with a kind of nervous laugh:
‘There’s evidently no room for me here, so perhaps I should be wiser to
go back.’
‘No, no!’ I urged; ‘stay and shoot. Mr. Charteris only wants you to make
up your mind.’
‘If he’s got one!’ sneered his cousin.
‘Blowed if I haven’t got as big a one as you!’ exclaimed the lad; ‘and a
better temper into the bargain. I’m sure I pity your people at home——’
But before he could finish his sentence Charteris had turned on him with
a face pale with passion.
‘Are you going to hold your tongue or not?’ he said.
‘I see no reason why I should.’
‘Then I shall have to make you.’
‘You’d better try!’
Their conversation was so inevitably leading to a quarrel that I thought
it time to interfere. I had no clue to the mystery that had raised Mr.
Charteris’s temper, but I was sorry for Fred Stephenson, whom I could
see was feeling all a boy’s disappointment at the prospect of having his
holiday cut short. So I attempted the _rôle_ of peacemaker.
‘Mr. Charteris, pray don’t have any words with your cousin. You are
frightening Ange and all of us. And, Fred, you shouldn’t speak in that
way; you are spoiling your holiday, and making everybody uncomfortable.
Mr. Charteris, won’t you take him to the forest?’
‘If he wishes it I will. I have already said so.’
‘I am sure he wishes it. He only came over for that purpose; didn’t you,
Fred?’
‘I shan’t care to go if Charteris speaks to me in that manner,’ grumbled
the boy.
‘I shall not do it if you keep a civil tongue in your head. Will you
come out shooting, then, or not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well; I shall be ready in half a minute.’
Charteris turned on his heel as he spoke and left the room, but I
detected an uncomfortable look of suspicion on his face as he did so.
This unpleasant episode had made us all feel conscious, and not tended
to increase the hilarity of my temperament. Fred stood thoughtfully at
the window after his cousin had disappeared, and I drew near to speak a
few words of comfort to him.
‘I am sorry this has happened, but it will all blow over in the forest.
I suppose you will come back to dinner with him.’
‘I don’t know. If I don’t get on his black books again, I may. What
makes him so grumpy, Miss Marsh?’
‘I have no idea! He seemed annoyed at your mentioning Parkhurst. Is that
where his family live?’
‘Yes! And you know it’s such a shame, he’s been away from home now for
nearly six months, and of course it’s put them out, and my dad says it’s
all a pretence his being afraid of the scarlet fever. Only two had it,
and they were well weeks ago, and poor Mary——’
‘That’s his sister, isn’t it?’ I interposed.
But Cave Charteris re-entered the room at that very moment, and Fred did
not answer my question. I was sorry for it, for I wanted to learn
something about his cousin’s family, for Ange’s sake. But he was hurried
off to the château, and there was no further opportunity to exchange a
word with him. He departed with many _au revoirs_, promising himself to
meet us again at dinner; but when that meal was served, to our great
surprise Mr. Charteris walked in alone.
‘Where is your cousin?’ we simultaneously asked him.
‘My cousin!’ he ejaculated, as if he had quite forgotten his existence.
‘What! Fred Stephenson! I’ve sent him back to school by the diligence.’
‘Without his dinner?’ said Tessie, in a voice of pity.
‘Oh! he had an excellent lunch at the Baron’s—ate enough for two, I can
assure you; and I knew if I brought him back here that he would outstay
his leave. Mr. Felton is very particular about the boys being punctual,
and Master Fred is _not_ particular about anything at all; and so, as I
am a sort of guardian of his, responsible to his father for his good
behaviour and all that sort of thing, I thought it better to take the
law into my own hands and see him safely off before I sat down to
dinner.’
It sounded plausible. There was no particular fault to find with the
man’s anxiety to save his young cousin from getting into a scrape with
his master, still, coupling it with the reception he had given the lad
that morning, and the haste with which he had hurried him out of the
house, I could not help suspecting that Cave Charteris had some other
reason beside what he stated for trying to keep Master Fred Stephenson
out of the way.
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]