AN ACT OF INDISCRETION
WHEN we all met at breakfast the next morning there was a good deal of
laughing and joking about the burglar, as we congratulated each other
that he had not disturbed our rest. Agneta took no part in it. She
feigned not to hear what was going on as she studied the envelopes of
the letters which lay beside her plate; but I saw that her colour had
risen, and felt sure that she was not so indifferent as she appeared.
There was another person at the table who took no part in the talk.
Alan Faulkner was unusually grave that morning. Suddenly glancing up, I
became aware that his eyes were upon me, studying me with an earnest,
questioning glance I could not understand. My eyes fell beneath it
and my colour rose. I fancied there was something reproachful in his
look; but, as I had done nothing to deserve this, I tried to persuade
myself that my imagination was wholly at fault. Yet the mere fancy had
a lowering effect upon my spirits. It was with a sense of flatness and
depression that I set about my daily duties.
Ere long Agneta claimed my attention. She had risen with a headache,
which increased in violence as the day wore on. In vain she struggled
against it with all the power of her strong will; she had to succumb at
last, and spent the afternoon lying on her bed, while I kept applying
cold bandages to her forehead. At last she said that she was better and
felt inclined to sleep, so I darkened the room and left her.
When I went downstairs there was no one about. I passed into the garden
and found that, too, deserted. As I walked round to the back of the
house I wondered where the others were. Aunt Patty, I knew, had driven
into Chelmsford to do some shopping, and I believed that Mr. Dicks had
accompanied her. The Colonel probably was at the Vicarage. "Gay Bowers"
wore the quiet, drowsy appearance that had marked it in the days when
paying guests were unknown there.
Somewhat discontentedly I wandered down the long lawns, past the tennis
nets and the croquet hoops, till I reached the part of the garden
devoted to vegetables and fruit. To the right lay the strawberry bed,
and, seeing some ripe berries, I paused to regale myself with them.
I was wearing the check skirt I had worn on the previous day. It was
foolish of me, but I liked it the better because Alan Faulkner had said
a word in approval of It. It seemed that he was particularly fond of
that admixture of black and white.
I lingered for some minutes by the strawberry bed, and was still
hunting amid the green leaves when I saw a lad, who sometimes assisted
Hobbes in the garden, coming towards me. Touching his cap awkwardly,
he handed me a folded slip of paper, and as he did so I saw that a
shilling lay in the palm of his hand.
"The gentleman told me to give you this, miss," he said.
"What gentleman?" I asked.
"Don't know," said the boy; "none of them as is here, miss."
I looked at the paper. It appeared to be a leaf torn from a pocket-book
and folded with a corner turned down. There was no address on it.
Turning from the boy's curious gaze, I strolled on, opening the missive
as I went. I was amazed as I read the following words:
"My Darling, I have been waiting so impatiently in the wood and
wondering what had kept you, till at last I was daring enough to
approach the house, and from the one place where it is possible to look
over the garden wall caught a glimpse of your frock, flitting to and
fro amid the bushes. Dearest, why do you waste the time, when we might
be together? I have got our plans laid now, and I must tell you about
them. Let me assure you that the way is clear. There in not another
soul about the place. Your puritanical cousin seems to have kindly
taken herself off. I am tempted to scale the wall and join you where
you are; but I dare not risk being caught again, as I was last night. I
will tell you about it when we meet, so make haste and join me in the
wood beyond the common."
"Your devoted"
"RALPH."
I read this extraordinary note in utter bewilderment until I came to
the allusion to the "puritanical cousin," when the truth suddenly
flashed on me. Why such an epithet was applied to myself I could not
quite see, but I took it home, and leaped to the conclusion that the
writer was Agneta's unworthy lover, who had mistaken me for her,
owing to the fact of our dresses being similar. How he came to be in
the neighbourhood I could not tell, but the idea that the supposed
"burglar" was none other than he had struck me on the previous evening.
I smiled to think how annoyed he would be, if he knew how his note
had miscarried. Then I made a sudden resolve. He should know what had
happened. I would go to the wood and confront him. I would tell him
what I thought of his conduct, and warn him that if he continued to
haunt the place I would let my aunt know of the discovery I had made. I
was self-confident enough to believe that I could reason with him and
persuade him to abandon a course of action which was so unworthy a true
lover and gentleman.
I acted far too impulsively, as I learned to my sorrow. Waiting only
to snatch my sailor hat from the peg in the back lobby where it hung,
I hastened off to the common, and found my way into the wood at the
nearest point to "Gay Bowers." It was the same wood, which ran down to
the Wood End Oaks.
Scarcely had I reached the shadow of the trees ere I perceived the
young man I came to meet. He was standing with his back to me, looking
down the green glade which led to the road by which apparently he
expected Agneta to come. No sooner did I see him than I experienced
a sense of shame at my temerity. I might have abandoned my purpose
and turned back, but the cracking of the twigs beneath my feet as I
scrambled through the hedge had reached his ears. He swung round in a
moment, and at the first glimpse of me a cry of delight escaped him;
but the expression of his face changed almost instantly. Had I been
less nervous I could have laughed at the unflattering look of annoyance
which darkened his face when he perceived that I was not the one he
expected.
"You did not expect to see me, Mr. Marshman," I said hastily in my
embarrassment.
He lifted his hat with a grace that was Continental. I learned later
that he had passed some years in a German school. He was of tall, lithe
form, and bore himself with grace. His features were so handsome that I
did not wonder at Agneta's infatuation, yet there was something in his
face that repelled me.
"I beg your pardon," he said suavely in response to my greeting—"you
have the advantage of me."
"I think not," I said. "I am Agneta's cousin—" it was with difficulty
that I kept back the word "puritanical" which trembled on my
tongue—"and I have come instead of her."
"Oh, really! Miss Darracott then, I presume." He lifted his hat again
as he spoke. "May I ask why you have come?"
"I came to give you this," I said, holding out the slip of paper,
"which I am sure you did not intend for me. You mistook my identity, I
suppose."
He looked bewildered for a moment, then flushed as he took the paper.
"That being the case, you, of course, refrained from reading it, Miss
Darracott?" he said in cool, quiet tones that had an edge of irony.
"Excuse me," I said, "you forget that your note bore no address. Your
messenger told me that a gentleman had instructed him to give it to me.
Not till I had read it could I know that it was meant for my cousin."
"Ah," he said, kicking savagely at a clump of nettles, "what an
imbecile I was! But at least you must have known that there was a
mistake."
"Oh, certainly," I stammered, growing scarlet as I remembered the
tender epithet with which the note had begun.
"Then may I ask," he continued, "why you did not give it to your cousin
when you found it was intended for her?"
"Because I prefer to return it to you," I said boldly, "and to ask you
not to send such notes to Agneta, nor try to see her, when you know it
is her parents' wish that you should not meet, and no good can come of
such underhand ways."
"Agneta did not tell you to say that to me," he replied defiantly.
"She did not," I answered. "Agneta is far from well this afternoon,
and she is lying down in her room at the present moment. She was quite
otherwise occupied, as it happened, but this I could not know. I do
not know how you come to be here," I added, "but I should advise you
to leave this neighbourhood, and be content to wait till you can see
Agneta with her parents' consent."
As I spoke I attempted to pass him, and go on my way; but, with an
ironical laugh, he turned on his heel and walked beside me.
"Excuse my laughing, Miss Darracott; your words struck me as
deliciously naive!" he said. "Don't you know that I might wait
till doomsday before I should win that consent, since I have the
misfortune to be poor, and the Redmaynes love money above all things—a
characteristic that by no means renders them singular."
"You cannot be sure that their minds would not change," I said, "and
I am sure it must be right for you to wait at present. It seems to me
that you are bound in honour to seek no pledge from Agneta until she
comes of age. You forget how young she is."
"Are you so much older, Miss Darracott?" he asked with a disagreeable
smile, as he bent towards me, his dark eyes seeking mine with insolent
raillery in their glance. "'Oh, wise young judge! How much more elder
art thou than thy looks!'"
The blood rushed into my face. The sense of shame and humiliation which
I experienced well-nigh brought the tears to my eyes. I saw how foolish
it was of me to imagine that I could influence such a man as this.
He glanced away for a moment, then drew nearer to me with something
so familiar and repulsive in his air that instinctively I shrank as
far from him as the narrow path would permit. Without heeding the
way I took, I had passed into the track that led to the stile giving
access to the road. As I hastily moved away from Ralph Marshman, I was
aware that Alan Faulkner stood on the other side of the stile, and was
looking towards us with an indescribable expression on his face. I only
saw him, and he was gone. Like a blow there fell on me the conviction
that he had utterly misunderstood the state of affairs.
What could he think, indeed, on seeing me wandering along a secluded
woodland path with this man beside me? How could I have been so mad as
to place myself in such a position! For a moment I did not hear the
words which Ralph Marshman was saying. Then he laughed in a way which
made me turn my eyes on him. He was regarding me with a bold, amused
glance that was in itself an insult. It seemed to me that he could read
my thoughts, and knew the pain I was enduring.
"That is the learned and exemplary Professor Faulkner," he said in a
mocking tone. "Do you think he was shocked to see us wandering in this
wood alone? But if he is human at all he would understand—at least the
apparent meaning of it, eh, Miss Darracott? He might not guess how
recent is our acquaintance."
"Don't speak so, if you please!" I responded angrily. "You know I only
came here to protest against the way in which you are acting! I warn
you that I shall tell my aunt all that I know!"
"You don't mean that," he said with an impudent laugh. "You say it
because you are angry. Well, I forgive your wrath since it is so
becoming. But let me warn you that if you tell tales I can tell them
too. I could tell a pretty story of how you opened another person's
letter, and how you came uninvited to meet me in the wood. I advise
you to keep your own counsel, Miss Darracott. Will you convey my
regrets to Agneta, and tell her that, but for the pleasure of making
your acquaintance, I should have been inconsolable when I heard of
her indisposition? I fear we shall not meet again for a while, Miss
Darracott, as I am about to leave this neighbourhood."
I made no reply as I hurried along the path and climbed the stile. I
could feel that he watched me for a few moments, but when I looked back
from the road I saw that he had turned in the opposite direction, and
was pursuing the path that led towards Chelmsford. I hurried homewards,
my cheeks burning, my pulses throbbing. I could hardly have felt much
worse had I been guilty of the indiscretion which I believed Alan
Faulkner had imputed to me.
"Gay Bowers" was close at hand when round a bend of the road I came
suddenly upon Agneta. The colour flew into her face as she saw me. It
was clear that her professed desire to sleep was merely a ruse to get
rid of me, and she was now hurrying to keep her appointment with Ralph
Marshman.
"It is too late, Agneta!" I said. "He is gone."
"What do you mean?" she asked nervously, and the flush faded from her
face as quickly as it had risen, till she looked ready to drop. "Where
have you been?"
"In the wood talking with Mr. Ralph Marshman," I replied. "And I wish
enough I had never gone near him. He is a horrid man, Agneta!"
A scene ensued which was to the credit of neither of us. In my sore
mortification I lost control of my temper, and said words that
were better unsaid. I reproached my cousin with deceitful and even
unmaidenly conduct. I told her that the man for whose sake she seemed
ready to risk the priceless pearl of her good name was no gentleman,
and that he was not worthy of a girl's respect, still less her love.
I told her that although I had promised to say nothing to Aunt Patty
about the love story she had confided to me, things had now come to
such a pass that I felt I had a right to claim release from that
promise. A higher obligation compelled me to inform aunt of what was
going on, and I gave her warning that I meant to lay the whole matter
before Aunt Patty at the earliest opportunity.
Agneta did not receive my rebukes with meekness. She reproached me in
her turn with considerable bitterness. Very hard were the words she
hurled at me. I was a prude, a mischief-maker, a Pharisee, and a sneak.
The last epithet made me wince. I did so hate all meanness in word or
deed, that the injustice of this last judgment stung me. But I held
my ground in spite of it. The issue was too grave for me lightly to
give way. I felt it as incumbent on me to save Agneta from herself as
if I had seen her in a fit of madness about to throw herself over a
precipice. When at last she saw that I would not yield, Agneta, wholly
exhausted by her passionate outburst, sank on a bank by the roadside
and began to cry. I felt very uneasy as I watched her. My attempts to
soothe her met with little success.
"You are so unkind, Nan," she sobbed. "You want to make me miserable,
and it is so horrid of you, just when I was looking forward to the
garden party to-morrow. You might wait till that is over before
you tell Mrs. Lucas. You will upset her as well as me, and spoil
everything."
I was amazed to hear Agneta speak so. What a child she was, to be sure!
How could I take her love trouble seriously, when I found her in the
midst of her distress giving a thought to this garden party, to which
we were all invited for the morrow? I knew that Aunt Patty was looking
forward to going to the Canfields' entertainment accompanied by most of
her paying guests; but I had no idea that Agneta was counting on it so
much, although I knew she had bought a new hat for the occasion. While
I mused on it, Agneta spoke again.
"Oh, do, Nan!" she said pleadingly, looking up at me with tears in her
blue eyes. "Do promise me that you will say nothing to Mrs. Lucas till
the party is over!"
For a moment I hesitated. Surely the delay could do no harm, since I
believed that Ralph Marshman was leaving Chelmsford this evening. The
sound of wheels on the quiet road decided me. I did not wish that any
one should see my cousin crying there by the wayside.
"Very well," I said; "I promise on condition that you stop crying at
once, and walk on like a reasonable being."
Agneta's face brightened instantly. She rose, and, slipping her hand
within my arm, as though she felt the need of support, began to walk at
a pace which soon brought us within the gate of "Gay Bowers."