MISS VANDELEUR'S HEIR
IT was a long time before the Egertons heard from Frances again, or
even knew where she and Miss Vandeleur were. About three years later,
Honora had a letter from some town in Russia, in which Frances said
that she was well, and begged for news of all her sisters.
"If you write at once I may get the letter."
The same thing happened several times at long intervals, and Honora
always wrote.
Violet wrote pretty regularly, and seemed very happy in her German
home, where music seemed to be the thing most thought of.
Daisy and her husband came home after a time, but went out again. She
had no children, and candidly said she thought they would be a great
bore. Her talk was all of balls and picnics and races, her husband's
riding and polo playing. There had never been much in common between
Daisy and Honora, and there was less now. Daisy was nearly as childish
as when she left S. Canice. Honora thought of Marian, and tried to make
Daisy think of her too.
"Oh yes, dear Marian, she was so good! But you know she was very ill;
she knew she could not live. So it was natural." And Daisy yawned.
"And I didn't shake her," Honora said when telling this story to her
husband.
Annie wrote constantly. She had a houseful of children, and if she had
trials, she said nothing about them. But she was evidently very happy.
And so, after those two or three years together, the Vandeleurs drifted
apart again, and the years went on. Went on and on, and Honora's slight
figure was not so slight as of old, nor her vivid blush so pink or so
frequent. But the beauty of her eyes and her smile was unchanged, and
her husband found her lovely still, which was enough for her.
Her boys—she had five—adored her. Piers got on steadily in his
profession, and all went well. The one grief was the loss of her two
little girls, the youngest of her children. The boys were all happily
at school, save one; all at home had scarlatina, and the boy lived. But
little Marian and Honora lie near their grandparents, in the churchyard
of S. Canice.
It was not very long after this loss that Honora heard again from
Frances, who announced that at last they were coming home. Miss
Vandeleur had been seriously ill, and was advised to put herself under
the care of a certain London specialist.
Honora ran down to the consulting-room and knocked. Piers was alone for
a wonder.
"Oh, Piers, only think! Frances and Miss Vandeleur are coming home.
Read the letter. I must not stay, I suppose?"
"There's no one waiting, but I expect a patient in a few minutes. What
a time they have been wandering about! Fifteen years, I think."
"More, a little. Piers Van is fifteen, and he was not born when they
left Florence."
"Yes; that's true. Honora, tell me true—you've had much work and little
play, and you've never had much money to spend as you like. Have you
ever thought how different your life would have been if you had gone
with Miss Vandeleur?"
"I have, frequently," she said, with a whimsical laugh. "Don't be a
donkey, sir. When I reckon up my blessings, and cry a little over our
sorrow, do you think I wish myself a second edition of the 'other Miss
Vandeleur'? Poor Frances! I wonder what she is like now?"
"And the 'other Miss Vandeleur.' You know, Honourbright, that's a bad
account of her."
"I thought so. And she was not the kind of person one can fancy being
very ill. I wonder, has she forgiven me yet?"
Miss Vandeleur never reached England. She was advised to travel by sea,
and at Ceylon, on her homeward voyage, she died. Frances wrote to say
that she would come on by the next mail, "and could Honora take her in
for a few days?"
The sisters met at the railway station, whither Honora was escorted by
her eldest son, Piers Van (short for Vandeleur), a fine-looking lad,
the image of the elder Piers. The pair ran briskly along the line of
carriages, and presently Honora stopped and jumped actively into one,
crying—
"Oh, Frances, I'm so glad!"
"Honora, I could not believe that that was you, running along like— And
don't tell me that this tall youth is your son?"
"Yes; the eldest. Come out and let me see you. Are you quite well,
Frances?"
"Quite. I have had a very trying time of late, that is all."
"Here's the brougham. Piers Van, get all your aunt's things—have you a
list, Frances?—and bring them home in a cab."
"Thank you; here is my list. I am glad to be at home again. I think I
shall never care to travel any more."
Frances was still a beautiful woman, but her lovely complexion was
utterly lost. She was somewhat sunburnt, and, save for that, very
colourless.
"Now," said Honora, when Frances had had some refreshment and had
changed her dress—"now I've given orders to say that I am engaged,
and I've told the boys not to come near me; and you and I will have a
good talk. Oh, Frances, do you remember our talks round the fire at S.
Canice, and dear Marian's quiet smile at our chatter?"
"I do remember. But I was a discontented girl in those days. I am not
one to whom poverty comes easy to bear. It will suit me better to be
the rich Miss Vandeleur. I shall not marry; a rich woman, no longer a
mere girl, is a fool if she marries. Single women are so independent
now that there is no temptation to marry. I mean to be what Miss
Vandeleur might have been—'would' have been but for your declining her
offer—a great lady, a personage—a real influence in society. I shall
enjoy all that, and I have plenty of time before me, for I am perfectly
healthy and very strong."
"I shall be begging from you for some of Piers' poor people," Honora
said pleasantly.
"I shall have plenty of people coming on that errand. Honora, are you
in mourning, or do you dress in black by choice?"
"Last summer—a year ago, we lost our two dear little girls. It was
scarlatina. Hugh had it too."
"I am sorry I asked that question, my dear. I thought your mourning
might be for old Mr. Egerton, or for Miss Vandeleur, though we were
very distant relations."
"Mr. Egerton has been dead these five years. He left all he could to
his widow and young family, and we had to let Eltringham. When Piers
Van is of age, it will be sold."
"Have you—were there only two girls?"
"Only two. I have five boys."
"Yes, but I don't want a boy."
"Want a boy?" Honora echoed.
"No. I thought I should like to adopt a girl of yours, call her
Vandeleur, and, if possible, secure a third Miss Vandeleur to succeed
me."
Honora gave her head a little shake, and Frances smiled and said—
"I don't believe you are as silly now as when you lost your own chance.
And at all events, Piers would not be such a fool. Honora, will you
sell S. Canice?"
"Sell it? Oh no; we all love it. We spend a little time there whenever
we can."
"Well, I should like to be Miss Vandeleur of S. Canice. But I can
keep the place Miss Vandeleur never would live in. But I shall
live principally in town. What an oddity she was, to be sure! From
the first, I was aware that she was odd, but you've no idea how it
increased. She became very hard to live with. One had to give in to
her in everything great and small, and I really think she used to say
things that she knew would annoy me on purpose to make me angry. And
so reckless about danger to life and limb, and utterly careless of her
health. More than careless, in fact; one would almost think she wanted
to kill herself."
"A sad, sad life," said Honora.
Frances as usual was thinking only of her own share of it. She replied—
"It was, indeed. But it is all over now, and I am sure I earned all she
could give me. I must go into mourning for her, I suppose? In any case,
I want some clothes. But the first thing to be done is to see Miss
Vandeleur's man of business. He has her will."
"Oh, Frances, I took it for granted that you had seen the will."
"Did you? Why?"
"You seemed so certain. But I suppose she would keep her promise to
you."
"Nonsense!" said Frances, sharply. "There was no need for a promise;
we never spoke of one. The will was made just before we went to India
after the two girls were married. And when she was sending home
directions to this lawyer, she said to me, 'If you remain with me, you
will find yourself handsomely provided for. But if you leave me, you
will always have the two hundred a year which I shall pay you from this
time."
"But did she never say definitely that you were her heir, for that is
what she said to me?"
"What she said meant that. She always said she was quite done with
Violet, Annie, and Daisy; she never spoke of you, for she never forgave
you. To whom could she leave it, then, but to me?"
"I do hope you are right, but people do such strange things. Quite
lately an old lady, a patient of Piers', died. She was very rich, and
had a granddaughter who lived with her. She left the child five hundred
a year, and the rest to different charities."
"Miss Vandeleur cared nothing for charities. Oh, believe me, I am all
right. Every one, wherever we went, always spoke of me as her heir, and
she never contradicted it."
"Spoke to her of it?" asked Honora.
"No, the papers; and I know she saw them."
"Tell me, Frances, did she know that she was dying?"
"Yes. She told the doctor she consulted in Calcutta that she would not
live to reach England, if he was right in his opinion. And she said to
me, 'Remember, where I die, I am to be buried.'
"I think she suffered a good deal, but one did not dare to ask. She
gave me the key of a fire-proof closet in the City, where she left her
jewels. She gave them to me, and a list of them, with a few lines to
prevent my having to pay legacy duties on them."
Honora made no further remark. But in telling Piers all that had
passed, she said—
"I cannot think that this present looks as if Frances was the heir; and
I always thought Miss Vandeleur was fond of Daisy."
"Ah," said Piers, "only to think that but for your obstinate
independence, I might now be—it does not go so far as a millionaire—but
a rich man!"
Honora laughed. "Don't get grasping in your old age, Piers. It would
not make us happier, it would not bring back our little girls, or even
cure the ache in our hearts. I often say that you and I are a shocking
example to the boys, for we took our own way and married when we were
by no means well off, and we've never repented either."
"Let me catch you repenting," said Piers.
Next day Honora and her husband went with Frances to the chambers of
Miss Vandeleur's solicitor, Mr. Attwater. They were all strangers to
him, but Piers introduced himself, and then Frances.
"And Miss Vandeleur, my sister-in-law, tells me that you have Miss
Vandeleur's will in your keeping."
"Yes," he said; "and a large part of her fortune is under our charge
still. It is a great pity that my client should have spent such immense
sums of late in her curious love of remote travelling. I suppose you
know that she sold all her landed property, and of the sums thus
realized nothing remains? Indeed, she does not leave behind her such a
fortune as she inherited. Still, no doubt her heir—" here he bowed to
Honora—"will be a rich woman."
"I am Mrs. Egerton," said Honora. "This is Miss Vandeleur."
"Yes. Ah, here comes my clerk with the will. Shall I read it to you,
Mrs. Egerton, or shall I tell you briefly the contents?"
"I have nothing to do with it," Honora said hastily.
"Excuse me, madam. You inherit everything except a handsome legacy to
Miss Frances Vandeleur, if she were still with Miss Vandeleur at the
time of her death."
There was a moment's perfect silence. Then Frances turned to her sister
and said, in a low tone of concentrated fury—
"You knew this all the time."
"Oh no, Frances! Indeed, I do not believe it even now. Mr. Attwater,
there is some mistake. I vexed my cousin, refused her offers, and we
parted in anger. Frances has been with her for years, nursed her, and—"
"Hush, Honora," Piers said gently. "This is quite useless. Read it, Mr.
Attwater."
Yes; everything was left to "my cousin Honora Egerton, formerly
Vandeleur;" ten thousand pounds to Frances, and no conditions or
restrictions of any kind.
Honora looked frightened and confused. Mr. Attwater stared at her in
unaffected amazement. Frances had walked to the window, and Piers
rather hated himself for remembering Stasy Ridd's story of the girl who
gnawed the bed-post. After a few moments, she came back to the table.
"You cannot deceive me," she said. "This was what you meant by your
warning. You knew this all the time."
"Frances, I did 'not!' I never imagined such a thing for a moment!"
"Mrs. Egerton could not possibly know," said Mr. Attwater. "I never
saw her before, and no one on earth knew the contents of this will but
myself and the testatrix. I was bound to secrecy."
"Oh, you don't know her! She is very clever—very clever. Honora, I will
never see your face again."
"When the first shock has passed, Miss Vandeleur will see that Mrs.
Egerton—"
"Never mind defending my wife, Mr. Attwater. No one who really knows
her—who is 'capable' of knowing her—will suspect her of a word that is
less than utterly true. Be reasonable, Frances, and don't make a public
show of yourself."
Frances made for the door. "Don't follow me," she said.
"Oh, Piers, run after her! Tell her—"
"Quiet, my darling. Let her go; she will come to her senses better
alone. And remember, too, that you'll make a far better use of all this
than she meant to do. You have five boys, and now we can educate them
to the uttermost, and let them choose their professions. You can help
Annie about that genius of hers; you can set my consumptive hospital
going. And Frances is very well off, and if she made sure of being the
heir, she was not deceived into thinking so. Mr. Attwater, did any man
but myself ever have to work so hard to console his wife for being made
rich?"
"It may help you if I tell you that the late Miss Vandeleur told me
that she had been careful to let her cousin Frances understand that she
did not take the place once offered to you. She meant then to leave you
nothing, but the last time I saw her, she said, 'It will have to be
Honourbright or a hospital for cats.' She was really fond of you, Mrs.
Egerton."
The Egertons went home, to find that Frances had hurriedly packed up
her things and left the house. She went that night to Dublin, where
she has lived ever since. After many kind letters had been written by
Honora, all correspondence was dropped, as Frances never answered them.
But after some years, she wrote to say that she forgave the Egertons.
And I do not think Piers had ever been seen in a passion till he read
that letter.
Of the good that Piers and Honora have done and are doing with the
money which had brought so little happiness to either of the Frances
Vandeleurs, I cannot linger to tell you. And, save the loss of her baby
girls, Honora has known no great sorrow.
Anxiety! Who that has boys escapes anxiety? But for the little girls,
there can be none. They were dear; they were lovely; they are safe. And
they live in their mother's heart, and yet she is still "Honourbright."
Piers calls her by no other name.
[Illustration: FINIS.]