Flossy's first instinctive desire was to rise from her sofa and receive
Sabina Meldreth standing--not at all by way of politeness, but as an
intimation that the interview was not intended to be a long one. On
second thoughts, she lay still. A show of languor and indifference was
more likely to produce an impression on Sabina than excitement. Mrs.
Vane closed her heavy white eyelids, and did not raise them until the
fair-haired woman in black, whom Hubert had noticed with the singers on
New Year's Eve, was standing beside her couch.
"I thought you was asleep," said Miss Meldreth, with a slightly insolent
air. "Some people can sleep through anything."
"All the better for them," answered Mrs. Vane dryly. "Why have you
come?" She was not going to admit that she had been longing to see her
visitor.
"I've come for the usual thing," said Sabina doggedly--"I want some
money."
"You had some last month."
"Yes, and had to write three times for it--and me bothered about my
rent. You're not carrying on business on fair terms, Mrs. Vane. I want
to have a clear understanding. Mother managed all the money matters
before; but she's gone now, and I should like something definite."
"What do you mean by 'definite'?"
"Either money down or regular quarterly payments, ma'am. You owe me that
when you think of all I've done for you."
"Have I done nothing for you then," said Flossy, with a red gleam in her
brown eyes, "in saving you from disgrace, ridding you of a permanent
burden, pensioning your mother till her death, and giving you money
whenever you have asked for it? Is that nothing at all, Sabina
Meldreth?"
"It's something, of course," said Sabina stolidly; "but it ain't enough.
I want fifty pounds a quarter, paid regular. If you give me that, I'm
thinking of going back to Whitminster, where there won't be so many
people poking and prying about and asking questions."
Going back to Whitminster! That would be worth paying for indeed! But
Flossy showed no sign of gratification.
"What people have been asking questions?"
"The parson, for one."
"And who else?"
"Well," said Sabina, rather reluctantly, "I won't say that there's any
one else. But the parson's been at me more than once, and he keeps his
eye upon me and preaches at me in church--and I won't stand it!"
"Why do you go to church?" said Mrs. Vane with a faint sneer.
"Because, if I don't, people would say I wasn't respectable," snapped
Miss Meldreth; "and it's no good flying in their faces that way."
"Oh! Then you wish to be thought respectable?"
"Yes, I do; and, what's more, so do you, Mrs. Vane, in your own way.
You're too high and mighty, and pretend to be too ill to have to go to
church; but, if you was me, and heard what folks say of them that stop
away, you'd go yourself."
"Possibly," said Flossy; "we are in different circumstances. Now tell
me--why has Mr. Evandale questioned you?"
"Because of what he heard when mother lay dying, of course. I wrote and
warned you at the time."
"You should have said more then. You should have come and told me the
whole story. Tell it me now."
It was a proof of Flossy's curious power over certain natures that
Sabina Meldreth, wild and undisciplined as she was, seldom thought of
resisting her will when in her very presence. She sat down on a chair
that Mrs. Vane pointed out to her, and recounted, in rapid and not
ill-chosen words, what had passed in her mother's room in the presence
of the Rector and of Enid Vane. Flossy listened silently, tapping her
lips from time to time with her fan.
When the story was ended, she turned on her visitor with a terrible
flash of her usually sleepy eyes.
"You fool," she said; without however raising her voice--"you fool! You
have known this all these months, and have never made your way to me to
tell it! How was I to know that the matter was so important? How was I
to suspect? I guessed something, of course; but not this! Why, Sabina
Meldreth, we are at the mercy of that child's discretion! She has us in
her hands--she can crush us when she pleases! Heavens and earth--and to
think that I did not know!"
"You might have known," said Sabina sullenly. "I've been to the house
more than once. I've written and said that I wanted to see you. I don't
think it's me that's been the fool." But the last sentence was uttered
almost in a whisper.
"No, I have been careless--I have been to blame!" said Flossy, a
feverish spot of color showing itself in her white cheeks. "So she
knows--she knows! That is why she looks at me so strangely; that is why
she avoids me and will hardly speak to me. I understand her now."
"Maybe," said Sabina, "she thought mother was raving, or didn't
understand her aright."
"No, no; she understood--she believes it. But why has she kept silence?
She hates me, and she might have ruined me--she might have secured
Beechfield for herself by this time! What a little idiot she must be!"
Mrs. Vane was thinking aloud rather than addressing Sabina; but that
young woman generally had an answer ready, and was not disposed to be
ignored.
"Miss Vane's fond of her uncle," she said drily, "and did not want
perhaps to vex him. Besides"--her voice dropped suddenly--"they tell me
she's fond of the child."
Flossy did not seem to hear; she was revolving other matters in her
mind.
"Do you think," she said presently; "that Miss Enid has told the Rector?
She has seen a good deal of him lately."
"No, I don't; I should have heard of it before now if she had," replied
Sabina bluntly. "He don't mince matters; and he's got it into his head
that I ought to be reformed, and that I've something on my mind. That's
why I want to get to Whitminster."
"Go farther away than Whitminster," said Mrs. Vane suddenly; "go to
London, and I'll give you the money you ask--two hundred pounds a year."
"Will you? Well, I'm not ill-disposed to go to London. One could live
there very comfortable, I dare say, on two hundred a year. But how am I
to know if you'll pay it? Give me a bit of writing----"
"Not a word--not a line! You need not be afraid. I'll keep my promise if
I have to sell my jewels to do it; and the General does not ask me what
I do with my allowance. By-and-by, Sabina, I may have an income of my
own; and then--then it shall be better for you as well as for me."
Her tone and manner had grown silky and caressing. Miss Meldreth looked
hard at her, as if suspecting that this sugary sweetness covered some
ill design; but she read nothing but thoughtful serenity in Mrs. Vane's
fair face.
"When the General's dead, you mean? Well, that's as it may be. But I
can't wait for that, you know, ma'am. He's strong and well, and may live
for twenty years to come. I want my affairs settled now."
"Very well. Go to London, send me your address, and you shall have the
fifty pounds as soon as you are settled there."
"That won't quite do, Mrs. Vane. I want something down for travelling
and moving expenses. I have some bills to settle before I can leave the
village."
"You must be terribly extravagant!" said Flossy bitterly. "I gave you
thirty pounds at Christmas. Will ten pounds do?"
"Twenty would be better."
"I haven't twenty. I do not know where to get them. You must be content
with ten."
"Ten won't do," said Sabina obstinately.
Mrs. Vane made a gesture of impatience.
"Reach me that jewel-box over there," she said. "Yes; bring it close--I
have the key. Here are two five-pound notes. And here--take this ring,
this bracelet--they are worth far more than ten pounds--get what you can
for them."
"I'd rather have the money," said Sabina; "but, if I must put up with
this, I must. I'll be off in a couple of days."
"You had better not tell anyone before hand that you are going. Some
people might--think it their duty to interfere."
"All right--I'll keep quiet, don't you fear, ma'am! Well, then, that's
settled. If I go to London, you'll send me the fifty pound a quarter.
And it must be regular, if you please--else I'll have to come down here
after it."
"You will not have to do that," said Mrs. Vane coldly.
"Very well. Then I'll say good-bye to you, ma'am. Hope you'll get safely
through your troubles; but it seems to me that you're in an uncommon
risky position."
"And, if I am," said Flossy, with sudden anger, "whose fault is it but
yours?"
Sabina shrugged her shoulders, and did not seem to think it worth while
to reply. She walked to the door, and let herself out without another
look or word.
She knew her way about Beechfield Hall perfectly well; and it was
perhaps of set purpose that she turned down a passage that led past the
nursery door. The door was open, and Master Dick was drawing a
horse-and-cart up and down the smooth boards of the corridor. It was his
favorite playing-place on a summer evening. He stopped short when he saw
Sabina, and looked at her with observant eyes.
"This isn't your way, you know," he said, facing her gravely. "This
passage leads to my room, and Enid's room, not to the kitchens; and you
belong to the kitchens, don't you?"
Sabina stopped and eyed him strangely. She looked at his delicate
sharp-featured little face, at his fair hair and blue eyes, at the
dainty neatness of his apparel, and the costly toy which he held in his
hands. Her own bold eyes softened as she looked. She half knelt down and
held out her arms.
"Will you kiss me once, dearie, before I go away?"
Dick looked at her wonderingly. Then he came and put his little arms
around her neck and kissed her once, twice, thrice.
"Don't cry," he said; "I didn't know you were so nice and kind. But, you
see, I've only seen you in the shop."
"You won't see me in the shop any more. I'm going away," said Sabina,
utterly forgetful of her promise to Mrs. Vane.
"Are you?" said Dick. "Oh, then, won't there be any more sweeties in
your windows? Or will some one else sell them?"
"Some one else, I expect. That's all that children care for!" cried
Sabina, springing to her feet. "He's got no heart!"
Turning her face suddenly, she saw that there had been a spectator of
the little scene--a spectator at the sight of whom Sabina Meldreth
turned deadly white. Miss Vane stood at the nursery door. She had been
sitting there, and had heard Sabina's words and poor little Dick's
innocent reply.
"You are wrong," she said gravely, with her eyes intent on Sabina's pale
distorted face. "He has a heart--he is very loving and gentle. But you
cannot expect him to love you when he does not know you. If ever he knew
you better, he would--perhaps--love you more."
This speech, uttered quite gently and even pitifully, had a curious
effect upon Sabina. She burst into tears, and turned away, hiding her
face and sobbing as she went.
Enid stood for a moment in the doorway, holding the door-post by one
hand, and sadly watching the retreating figure until it disappeared.
Then Dick pulled at her dress.
"Cousin Enid, why does that woman cry? And why did she want to kiss me?
Was she angry or sorry, or what?"
"Sorry, I think, dear," said Enid, as she went back to her seat.
She drew Dick upon her knee and caressed him tenderly for a few moments;
but Dick felt, to his surprise, that the kisses she bestowed on him were
mingled with tears.
"Cousin Enid, why do you cry too?"
But all she answered was--
"Oh, Dick, Dick--my poor little Dick--I hope you will never--never
know!" Which poor little Dick could not understand.
* * * * *
Hubert Lepel arrived on the following day. He had not been to Beechfield
Hall for some weeks, and he seemed to feel it incumbent upon him to make
up to Enid for his long absence by presents and compliments; for he had
brought her a beautiful bracelet, and was unusually profuse in his
expressions of regard and admiration. And yet Enid seemed scarcely so
pleased as a young girl in similar circumstances ought to have seemed.
Indeed she shrank a little from private conversation with him, and
looked harassed and troubled.
It was perhaps in consequence of this fact that three days after his
arrival Hubert sought a private interview with his sister. Flossy had
meanwhile not spoken a word; she had been watching and waiting for those
three days.
"Florence, I am inclined to think that you were mistaken."
"So am I," thought Flossy to herself; but aloud she only asked, "Why,
dear?" with perfect tranquility.
"About Enid. I--I am beginning to think that she doesn't much care." He
said the last words slowly, with his eyes on the tip of his boot.
"I am sure you are mistaken," said Flossy quietly. "But she is not
demonstrative, and--well, I may as well say it to you--she has taken
some idea into her head--something about me--about the past----"
She faltered skilfully; but she kept her eyes on Hubert's face, and saw
that it wore a guilty look.
"Well, Flossy, you are right," he said. "She has heard
something--village talk, I suppose--and I cannot get her to tell me what
it is."
"She means perhaps to tell some one else?" said Mrs. Vane, with
bitterness.
"No, I believe not. She has no wish to harm you, poor child, although
she thinks that the General ought not to be deceived. However, I
persuaded her to abandon that idea, showing her that it was not her duty
to tell a thing that would so utterly destroy his happiness." Florence
turned away her head. "I felt myself a villain," Hubert continued
gravely, "in counseling her to stifle her conscientious scruples,
Florence; but, for your sake and your husband's sake, I pleaded with
her, and prevailed on her to keep silence--she will tell no one but
myself after our marriage."
"You had better not let her open the subject with you at all. It will
only be productive of unhappiness." Flossy discerned the entanglement at
once--she saw that Hubert meant one thing and Enid another; but out of
their cross-purposes she divined a way of keeping the girl silent. "For
my sake Hubert, don't discuss my terrible past between you. What good
would it do? Promise me that, when you are married, you will not let her
speak of it--even to you." She shed a tear or two as she spoke.
"Poor Flossy!" said Hubert, laying his hand on her arm. "Don't grieve,
dear! I have no right to say anything, have I? Yes, I promise you I will
not let her say a word about the matter, either now or afterwards, if I
can help it, and certainly to no one beside myself."
And with this promise Flossy feigned contentment. But, when Hubert had
left her, she paced up and down the room with cheeks that flamed with
excitement, and eyes that glowed with the dull red light of rage.
"What was I thinking about to bring this engagement to pass?" she said
to herself. "Yet, after all, it is better so. Hubert has a reason for
silencing her; with any other man, she would have the matter out in a
trice, and ruin me. Now what is the next move? To delay the marriage, of
course. I will come round prettily to the General's view, and uphold him
in his determination not to allow the marriage for at least two years.
So Enid says that she will not betray me until she is married, does she?
Then she will never have the chance; for a great deal may happen--to a
delicate girl like Enid Vane--in two long years."