On the following day Lady Thesiger had arranged to come to Crown Anstey
with Agatha, for the purpose of choosing from some very choice
engravings that had been sent to me from London. I asked Sir John to
accompany them and stay at lunch. It was always a red-letter day to me
when my darling came to my house, and I remember this one--ah, me!--so
well. It was fine, clear and frosty; the sky was blue; the sun shone
with that clear gold gleam it has in winter; the hoar frost sparkled on
the leafless trees and hedges; the ground was hard and seemed to ring
beneath one's feet.
"A bright, clear day," said Coralie, as we sat at breakfast together.
"Yes," I replied. "Coralie, will you see that a good luncheon is served
today? Sir John and Lady Thesiger are coming--Miss Thesiger, too--and
they will remain for lunch."
Her face cleared and brightened.
"Coming today, are they? I am very glad."
I looked upon this as an amiable wish to atone for the unpleasantness of
last night, and answered her in the same good spirit.
I am half ashamed to confess that when Agatha was coming I seldom did
anything but stand, watch in hand, somewhere near the entrance gates.
That I did today, and was soon rewarded by seeing the Harden carriage.
Ah, me! will the memory of that day ever die with me? My darling came
and seemed to me more beautiful than ever. Her sweet, frank eyes looked
into mine; her pure, beautiful face had a delicate flush of delight, and
I--God help me!--forgot everything while by her side.
We were all in the library. How I thanked God afterward that Clare had
not felt well enough to have the engravings sent to her room, as I
proposed! We sat round the large center-table on which the folios lay
open, Sir John, who took great delight in such things, explaining to
Lady Thesiger. I was showing Agatha those I liked best, when quite
unexpectedly, Coralie entered the room.
The moment I saw her face I knew that she meant mischief. Surely,
woman's face never had so hard, so wicked a look before.
Sir John rose and bowed. Lady Thesiger looked, as she always did in the
presence of mademoiselle, constrained and annoyed. Agatha's look was one
of sheer surprise, for Coralie walked up to the table.
"Choosing engravings, Miss Thesiger?" she said, with an easy smile. "I
must ask you to give me your attention for a short time. Perhaps you
will not think the engravings of much importance after that."
She declined the chair Sir John placed for her with the hauteur of a
grand duchess. As she stood there, calmly surveying us, she looked the
most beautiful yet the most determined of women.
"May I ask," she said, "the exact date fixed for the marriage?"
Sir John answered her:
"The 26th of December, mademoiselle."
"May I ask," she said, "what Sir Edgar has thought of doing for me?
Doubtless Lady Thesiger will have advised him. This has been my home for
many years, and is my only home now. Has the question been considered?
In the event of Sir Edgar bringing a young wife here, what is to become
of me?"
There was a mocking smile on her beautiful face; her dark eyes flashed
from one to the other of us; we felt uncomfortable. She had just hit
upon the weak point that disturbed us all, the one cloud in a clear sky.
As no one else seemed inclined to speak, I answered:
"Everything will be done for your comfort, Coralie; you may be sure of
that, for Sir Barnard's sake."
"And not for my own?" she said. "What is your idea of comfort, Sir
Edgar? Do you propose offering me a little cottage and a few pounds per
week? That would not content me."
She looked so imperial, so beautiful, that I wondered involuntarily what
would content her, she who might have anything.
"Whatever you yourself think right, Coralie, you shall have."
I saw a strong disapproval in Lady Thesiger's face, and Coralie's quick
eyes, following mine, read the same.
"Ah!" she said, hastily, "Lady Thesiger does not approve of carte
blanche to ambitious cousins."
Lady Thesiger really restrained herself; she was tempted to speak--I saw
that--but refrained.
"The best plan," said Sir John, calmly, "would be for Mademoiselle
d'Aubergne to say what she herself wishes."
"I will tell you," she replied, "what I claim."
Then, as we looked up at her in wonder, she continued, with bland
calmness:
"I claim as my own and right, on the part of my infant son, the whole of
the estate and revenues of Crown Anstey. I claim, as widow of the late
Miles Trevelyan, Esq., my share of all due to me at his death."
A thunder-bolt falling in our midst would not have alarmed us as those
words did. Sir John looked sternly at her.
"In the name of heaven, what do you mean?"
"Just what I say, Sir John. I was the wife, and am now the widow, of the
late Miles Trevelyan, Esq."
"But that is monstrous!" he cried. "Miles was never married."
"Miles was married to me, Sir John."
"But we must have proof; your word goes for nothing. There must be
indisputable proof of such an assertion."
She smiled with quiet superiority.
"Knowing with whom I have to contend, it is not probable that I should
assert anything false. I am prepared to prove everything I say."
My darling's face grew white as death. I was bewildered. If this were
true--oh, my God! if it were true--fortune, love and everything else
were lost.
"Where were you married?" asked Sir John.
"At Edgerton--St. Helen's, Edgerton. The Rev. Henry Morton married us,
and the two witnesses were Sarah Smith, who was my maid, and Arthur
Ireton, who was head game-keeper here at Crown Anstey."
It was so quickly told and so seemingly correct, we looked at each other
in amaze.
"We must examine into it," said Sir John, "before going any further."
"That will be best," she replied, composedly. "I had better explain that
Miles, poor fellow, fell in love with me the first time he saw me. Sir
Barnard would not hear of such a thing. He told Miles that if he
persisted in marrying me he would curse him. Perhaps he had his own
reasons for not liking me. His son tried to obey him, but I am proud to
say that the love Miles had for me was far stronger than fear of his
father. Still, for pecuniary reasons he did not care to offend him, so
we were married privately the second year of my stay at Crown Anstey."
She turned to Lady Thesiger with a mocking smile.
"I know perfectly well," she said, "why your ladyship has never liked
me. You met me walking one evening with Miles Trevelyan in the Anstey
woods; you saw him kiss me. You know, now, that he was my husband and
had a right to kiss me if he chose."
Lady Thesiger bowed very stiffly.
"Two years after our marriage," Coralie continued, "my little son,
called Rupert, after the Crusader Trevelyan, was born. Under the
pretense of visiting some of my relations, I went to Lincoln. In the
registry of the church of St. Morton Friars you will find the proper
attestation of my son's birth."
"Where is that son?" asked Sir John, incredulously.
"At Lincoln. I can send for him. You can go there and see him; he is
under the care of Sarah Smith, my nurse. He is living and well, and he,
not Mr. Edgar, is the heir of Crown Anstey."
"But why," asked Sir John, incredulously, "why have you never told this
story before? It seems incredible that you should have waited until
now."
"I have my own reasons," she replied. "I waited first to see what Sir
Edgar would be like; then, when I saw him--I--I need not be ashamed to
own it, even before Miss Thesiger--I liked him, and if he had been
reasonable I should never have told my story at all."
"That is," said Sir John, with supreme disgust, "if Edgar had been duped
by you and had married you, you would have defrauded your son of his
rights?"
"Yes," she replied, with a smile; "it is Crown Anstey I love, and I
would rather be the wife than the mother of the master of Crown Anstey."
"You are a wicked woman," he said, sternly.
"I am a successful one," she retorted. "Pray, Sir John, examine all
these proofs at your earliest convenience; I am anxious to take my place
as mistress of my own house; I am anxious to have my child here in his
own home."
We all rose; no words can express my emotions. It was not the fortune,
God knows--not the fortune; but I knew when I lost that I lost Agatha.
I felt my face growing white as death itself and my hands trembled.
"One moment," I said. "A year ago the doctor told me if my sister kept
up her strength, and had nothing to make her either anxious nor unhappy,
she would in all probability recover. Now, whether this story be true or
false, I pray you all, for God's sake, keep it from her!"
"I shall not mention it," said Coralie.
"Do not despair, Edgar," said Sir John. "I do not believe--I never
shall!"
"I wrote to London last night," continued Coralie, "for Mr. Dempster,
who was Sir Barnard's lawyer on one or two occasions. You, of course,
Mr. Edgar Trevelyan, will retain the services of the family solicitors."
"I shall need no solicitors if your story be true. I shall not seek to
defraud Miles' son of his birthright; I shall yield it to him."
"You will find it true in every particular," she said; "and remember
always that it is your own fault I have told it."
With that parting shot she quitted the room.
"My poor boy," said Sir John, "this is a terrible blow to you."
"I am afraid," said Lady Thesiger, "that this abominable woman has
spoken the truth. I always thought poor Miles had something on his
mind--some secret. I told him so one day, and he did not deny it."
My darling came up to me with her sweet, pale face and outstretched
hands.
"Never mind, Edgar," she said. "If you lose Crown Anstey I will try to
love you all the more to make up for it."
What could I do but bless her and thank her? Yet I knew--God help me, I
knew in losing my fortune I lost her!