IN WHICH CASSANDRA GOES TO QUEENSDERRY AND TAKES A DRIVE IN A PONY
CARRIAGE
Glad to be borne away from the city and out through fresh green fields
and past pretty church-spired villages, alone in the compartment,
Cassandra comforted herself with her baby, playing with him until he
dropped to sleep, when she made a bed for him on the car seat with rugs,
and, taking out her purse, began to count her remaining resources. Her
bill at the hotel had appalled her. So much to pay to stay only a night!
What would David say? But he had told her to use the money as she liked,
and now she was here, there was nothing else to do.
Laboriously she computed the amount in English money, and, reckoned
thus, her dollars and cents seemed to shrink and vanish. Still, more
than half remained of what she had brought with her, and she viewed the
matter calmly.
The shadows fell long over the smooth greensward as she arrived in the
village of Queensderry and was driven to a small inn, the only house of
entertainment in the place. She was given a pleasant room overlooking
fields and orchards and bright gardens, and the sight rested her eyes,
and still further calmed her troubled heart. She would rest to-night,
and to-morrow all would be well.
Never had food tasted better to her than the supper served in her pretty
room,--toast in a silver rack, and fresh butter, such as David loved,
and curds and whey, and gingerbread, and a small jar of marmalade. She
ate, seated in the window, looking out over the sweet English landscape
in the warm twilight--the breeze stirring the white curtains--her little
son in her lap gurgling and smiling up at her--and her heart with David,
wherever he might be.
Slowly the dusk veiled all, and one star glimmered above the slender
church spire. A pretty maid brought candles and a book in which she was
asked to write her name. She was the landlady's daughter and looked
wholesome and bright. Cassandra glanced in her face as she set the
candles down, and took up the pen mechanically.
"Mother says will you sign here, please?"
"Yes." Cassandra turned the leaves slowly and read other names and
addresses--many of them. She wrote "Cassandra Merlin--" and paused;
then, making a long dash, added simply, "America," and, handing back the
book and pen, turned again to the window.
"Thank you. Is that all?" said the maid, lingering.
"Yes," said Cassandra again; then she laid her baby on the bed and began
taking his night clothing from her bag.
"How pretty he is! Shan't I help you unpack, ma'm?"
Cassandra paused, looking dreamily before her as if scarcely
comprehending, then she said: "Not to-night, thank you. Perhaps
to-morrow." The maid deftly piled the supper dishes and, taking them and
the book with her, departed with a pleasant "Good night, ma'm."
In spite of her calmness, Cassandra lay wakeful and patient, and when at
last she did sleep, it seemed to her she stood with her husband on her
father's path, looking out under overarching boughs, upon blue distances
of heaped-up mountain tops, and David's flute notes, silvery sweet, were
raining down upon her. She awoke to discover day was breaking, and a
pealing of bells from some distant church tower was announcing the fact.
She gathered her babe to her throbbing heart and thought, to-day she was
to go out and meet her husband's people. How should she go? How should
she conduct herself? Should she go at once, or wait until the afternoon?
Why had she not written her name fully in the travellers' book? What
mysterious foreboding had caught her fingers and stayed them at her
maiden name? Was she afraid? When she arose, she found herself trembling
from head to foot, and called for her breakfast, before bathing and
dressing her little son.
The same pretty maid brought it, and came again, while Cassandra bathed
and nursed her baby, to set the room to rights.
"Shan't I unpack your box for you now, ma'm?" And, without waiting for a
reply, she took out Cassandra's clothing, pausing now and then to
admire and pet the lovely boy. Her simple friendliness pleased
Cassandra, who was minded to ask some of the questions which were
burdening her.
"When do people make visits here, in the morning or afternoon?"
"That depends, ma'm."
"How do you mean? I'm a stranger in England, you know."
"Yes, ma'm. If they make polite visits, they go about tea time, ma'm.
But if it's parish visits, or on business, or on people they know very
well, they may go in the morning, ma'm."
"And when is tea time here?"
"Why, ma'm, everybody has their tea in the afternoon along four or
thereabouts, and sees their friends."
"Can I get a carriage here, do you know?"
"I can get a pony carriage, ma'm. We hires it when we need it, only we
must speak for it early, or it may be taken."
"Oh! Then will you please speak for it soon? I would like to have it."
"Yes, ma'm. Will you drive yourself, ma'm, or shall I ask for a boy?"
"Oh! I don't know. I can drive--but--"
"They are gentle ponies, ma'm. Any one can drive them."
"Yes, but I don't know the way."
"Yes, ma'm. Where would you like to go, ma'm?"
"To Daneshead Castle."
The bright-cheeked maid opened her round eyes wider and looked at
Cassandra with new interest. "But, ma'm,--that is quite far, though the
ponies are smart, too."
"How far is it?"
"It's quite a bit away from here, ma'm; you'd have to start at two or
thereabouts. I could take you myself if mother would let me, and tell
you all the interesting places, but"--the girl looked at her shrewdly, a
quickly withdrawn glance--"that depends on how well acquainted you are
there, ma'm. Maybe you'd like better to have a man drive, and just let
me go along to mind the baby for you."
"Yes, I would," said Cassandra, gladly.
"Thank you. I'll run for the ponies now, ma'm."
Cassandra heard her boots clatter rapidly down the wooden stairs at the
back of the house, and presently saw her dashing across the inn yard,
bareheaded and with her bare arms rolled in her apron.
The girl's manner of receiving the statement that she wished to drive to
the castle was not lost on Cassandra's sensitive spirit. She sat a
moment, thoughtful and sad, then rose and set herself to prepare
carefully for the visit. In the afternoon! Then she might wear the silk
gown and lovely hat. Once more she tried to arrange her hair as she saw
other young women wear theirs, and again swept its heavy masses back
loosely from her brow and coiled it low as her custom was.
The landlady's daughter chattered happily as they drove. She held the
baby on her knee, and he played with the blue beads she wore about her
neck, while Cassandra sat with hands dropped passively in her lap, her
body leaning a little forward, straight and poised as if to move more
rapidly along, her red lips parted as if listening and waiting, and her
eyes courteously turning toward the places and objects pointed out to
her, yet neither seeing nor hearing, except vaguely.
Presently becoming aware that the chatter was about the family at
Daneshead Castle, her interest suddenly awoke. About the old lord--how
vast his possessions--how ancient the family--how neglected the castle
had been ever since Lady Thryng's death,--everything allowed to run
down, even though they were so vastly rich--how different everything was
now the parsimonious old lord was dead and the new lord had come in, and
there were once more ladies in the family--what a time since there had
been a Lady Thryng at Daneshead--how much Lady Laura was like her cousin
Lyon--how reckless she would be if her mother did not hold her with a
firm hand--and so the chatter ran on.
The girl enjoyed the distinction of knowing all about the great family
and enlightening this stranger from America, whose silent attention and
occasional monosyllabic replies were sufficient to inspire her friendly
efforts to entertain. Moreover, her curiosity concerning Cassandra and
her errand, where she was evidently neither expected nor known, was
piqued and lively, and she threw out many tentative remarks to probe if
possible the stranger lady's thoughts.
"Have you ever seen Lord Thryng--the new lord, I mean, ma'm?"
"Yes," said Cassandra, simply, a chill striking to her heart to hear him
mentioned thus.
"He's been out here directing the repairs himself, and getting the place
ready for his mother and Lady Laura; but I never saw him. They say he's
perfectly stunning. Quite the lord. Is he so very handsome, do you
think?"
"Yes." Cassandra looked away from the girl's searching eyes.
"They say he never has married, and that is fortunate too; for he has
lived so long in America, and never expecting to come into the title, he
might have married somebody his own set over here never could have
received, and that would have been bad, wouldn't it?"
Cassandra turned and looked gravely at the girl. She wished to stop her,
but could not think how to do it. She could not bear to hear her husband
talked over in this way.
"They are tremendous swells. Lady Thryng looks high for him, and well
she may, for mother says he's worthy of a princess, he's that rich and
high bred, too, for all that he was only a doctor over in America.
Mother says it's very fortunate he never married some common sort over
there. They say Lady Thryng wants him to marry Lady Geraldine Temple's
daughter. She is a great beauty, and has a pretty fortune in her own
right, too. They'll be rich enough to entertain the king! And they may
do it, too, some day."
Cassandra sat still and cold. She could not stop the girl now. "Lady
Laura's coming out is to be next week, so his lordship must be home
soon. They say it will be a very grand affair! And I am to see it all,
for mother says she will have a maid, and I may go out there to serve,
and I shall see all the decorations and the fine dresses. That will be
fine, won't it, baby?"
She untied the blue beads and dangled them before the baby's eyes, and
he caught at them and gurgled in baby glee. Cassandra sat silent, rigid,
and cold, unheeding the child or the girl, only vaguely hearing the
chatter.
"And that will be grand, won't it, baby? But he is a love, this boy!
There is Daneshead Castle now, ma'm. You see it through the trees, but
the grounds are so large we have to drive a good bit before we are
there."
The driver turned the ponies' heads, and they scampered through a high
stone gateway and along a smooth road which wound through a dense wood,
with green open spaces interspersed, where deer were browsing. All was
very beautiful and quiet and sweet, but Cassandra, sitting with
wide-open eyes, gravely beautiful, did not see it.
To the girl everything was delightful. She had not the slightest doubt
that the American lady was very rich. That she travelled so simply and
alone was nothing. They all did queer things--the Americans. She was
obtusely unconscious that she had been speaking slightingly of them to
one of themselves, and she talked on after the romantic manner of girls
the world over, giving the gossip of the inn parlors as she listened to
it evening after evening, where the affairs of the nobility were freely
discussed and enlarged and commented upon with eager interest.
What was spoken in her ladyship's chamber and Lady Laura's
boudoir--their half-formed plans and aspirations--carelessly dropped
words and unfinished sentences--quickly travelled to the housekeeper's
parlor--to the servant's table--to the haunts of grooms and stable
boys--to the farmer's daughters--and to the public rooms of the
Queensderry Inn.
Thus it was Cassandra heard tales of the brother and sister and mother
of her David, and of him also. How it was said that once he was engaged
to a rich tradesman's daughter but had broken it off and gone to America
against the wishes of all his family, and had become a common
practitioner there to the disgust of all his relatives; and again
Cassandra felt that she had left a sweet and lovely world behind her to
step into "Vanity Fair."
She tried to hold fast her faith in goodness and high purpose. She was
sure--sure--David had been moved by noble motives; why should she not
trust him now? Did this girl know him better than she--his wife? Yet, in
spite of her valiant spirit, two facts fell like leaden weights upon her
heart. David had not told his people that he had a wife, and they would
be offended that he had "tied himself to a common sort over there." This
David whom she loved was so high above her in the eyes of all his
relatives and perhaps even in his own. What--ah, what could she do!
Might she still hold him in her heart? She could not walk in upon them
now and betray him--never--never.
Her lips grew pale, and her head swam, but she sat still, leaning a
little forward in the moving phaeton, her hands tightly clasped in her
lap and her babe unheeded at her side, until the red returned to her
lips and again burned in a clearly defined spot against the pallor of
her cheek. She did not know that a strange, unearthly beauty was hers. A
carriage met them filled with gay people. She did not notice them, but
they gazed at her and turned to look again as they passed.
"I say, you know!" said one of the men, as they whirled by.
"There, that was Lady Geraldine Temple in that carriage, and the young
man who stared so hard is her son. They've been paying a visit, or maybe
they've brought Lady Clara to stay a bit. They say both families are
keen for the match--and why shouldn't they be? Oh, they'll entertain the
king here some day, and then there'll be high times at Daneshead!"
An automobile flashed by them, and then another. "There must be a party
here to-day, or likely it's visitors dropping in, now it's getting
toward tea time. It's all right, ma'm," she added, as Cassandra stirred
uneasily. "It must be only visitors, or I would have heard of it.
They're keeping open house now, though they don't go anywhere themselves
yet. You see it's a year since the deaths, so they could mourn them all
at once, and not spin it along. They had to wait a year before Lady
Laura's coming out--rightly. Let the ponies walk now, driver. I beg
pardon, ma'm." The girl had so taken possession of Cassandra, the baby,
and the whole expedition, that she gave the order unthinkingly.
"Yes, let them walk," said Cassandra, and drew a long breath. She heard
gay laughter, and caught sight through the trees of light dresses and
wide, plumed hats. Some one sat on the terrace at a table whereon was
shining silver.
"There, I said so! That's Lady Clara pouring tea. I say, but she's a
beauty! Isn't she? No, no. Go to the front, driver. American ladies
don't call at the side."
"There's a hautomobile there, ma'm."
"Then wait a moment. Don't be a stupid."
Thus, aided by the innkeeper's clever daughter, Cassandra at last made
her entrance properly and was guided to the presence of David's mother,
who had not joined her guests, having but just closed an interview with
Mr. Stretton. As she saw Cassandra standing in the drawing-room waiting
her, Lady Thryng came graciously forward. The lovely August weather had
tempted every one out of doors, and the great room was left empty save
for these two, David's mother and his wife.
The beauty of other-worldliness which had infused Cassandra's whole
being as she fought her silent battle during the long drive, still
enveloped her. If she could have followed her impulses, she would have
held out both hands and cried: "Take me and love me. I am David's wife."
But she would not--she must not. Her heritage of faith in goodness--both
of God and man--kept her heart open, and gave her power to think and act
rightly in this her hour of terrible trial; even as a little child,
being behind the veil which separates the soul from God, may, in its
innocent prattle, utter words of superhuman wisdom.
"I am sorry if I have interrupted you when you have company," she said
slowly. "I am a stranger--an American."
"Ah, you Americans are a happy lot and may go where you please. Take
this seat by the window; it is very warm. My son has been in America,
but he tells us so little, we are none the wiser for that, about your
part of the world."
"I knew him in America. That is why I called."
"Yes?" The mother bent forward and regarded her curiously, attentively.
"He lived very near us. He did a great deal of good--among the poor."
She put her hand to her slender white throat, then dropped it again in
her lap. Then, looking in Lady Thryng's eyes, she said: "I have seen
your picture. I should have known you from that, but you are more
beautiful."
"Oh! That can hardly be, my dear! It was taken many years ago, you
know."
"Yes, he said so--his lordship--only there we called him Doctah Thryng."
A shadow flitted over the mother's face. "He was a practitioner over
there--never in England."
"That is a pity; it is such noble work. But perhaps he has other things
to do here."
"He has--even more noble work than the practice of medicine."
"What does he do here?" asked Cassandra, in a low voice.
"He must take part in the affairs of government. Very ordinary men may
study and practise medicine, but unless men who are wise, and are nobly
born and bred, make it their business to care for the affairs of their
country, the nation would soon be wrecked. That is what saves England
and makes her great."
"I see." Cassandra sat silent then, and Lady Thryng waited expectantly
for her errand to be declared, curious about this beautiful young
creature who had stepped into her home unannounced from out of the
unknown, yet graciously kindly and unhurried. "I think I know. With us
men are too careless. They think it isn't necessary, I suppose." Again
she paused with parted lips, as if she would speak on, but could not.
"With you, men are too busy making money, I am told. It is necessary to
have a leisure class like ours."
"Oh!" Cassandra caught her breath and smiled. She was thinking of the
silver pot her mother had enjoined her to take with her, and why. "But
we do think a great deal of family; even the simplest of us care for
that, although we have no leisure class--only the loafers. I'm afraid
you think it very strange I should come to you in this way, but
I--thought I would like to see Doctah Thryng again, and when I heard he
was not in England, I thought I would come to you and bring the messages
from those who loved him when he was with us. But I mustn't stop now and
take your time. I'll write them instead, only that wouldn't be like
seeing him. He stayed a whole year at our place."
"And you came from Canada?"
"Oh, no. A long way from there. My home is in North Carolina."
"Oh, indeed! How very interesting! That must have been when he was so
ill." Then, noticing Cassandra's extreme pallor, she begged her most
kindly to come out on the terrace and have tea; but she would not. She
felt her fortitude giving way, and knew she must hasten. "But you must,
you know. The heat and your long ride have made you faint."
"I--I'm afraid so. It--won't--last."
"Wait, then. You must take a little wine; you need it." Roused to
sympathy, Lady Thryng left her a moment and returned immediately with a
glass of wine, which she held to her lips with her own hand. "There, you
will soon be better. Here is a fan. It really is very warm. Indeed, you
must have tea before you go."
She took her passive hand and led her out on the terrace unresisting,
and again Cassandra was minded to throw her arms about the lovely
woman's neck, who was so sweet and kind, and sob on her bosom and tell
her all--but David had his own reasons, and she would not.
"Do you stay long in England?"
"I am going to-morrow. Oh!" she exclaimed, as they stepped out, and she
saw the number of elaborately dressed guests moving about and gayly
chatting and laughing. "I can't go out there. I am a strangah." It was a
low melancholy wail as she said it, and long afterward Lady Thryng
remembered that moaning cry, "I am a strangah."
"No, no. You are an American and a very beautiful one. Come, they will
be glad to meet you. Give me your name again."
"Thank you--but I must--must go back." Suddenly, with a cry, "My baby,
he is mine," she swept forward with long, swinging steps toward a group
who were bending over a rosy-cheeked girl, who was seated on the steps
of the terrace with a child in her arms. She was comforting him and
cuddling and petting him, and those around her were exclaiming as young
girls will: "Isn't he a dear!"--"Oh, let me hold him a moment!"--"There,
he is going to cry again. No wonder, poor little chap!"--"Oh, look at
his curls--so cunning--give him to me."
Seeing his mother, he put up his arms to her and smiled, while two
tears rolled down his round baby cheeks.
"I found him in the pony carriage with Hetty Giles, and he was crying
so--and such a darling! I just took him away--the love!" cried Laura.
"Why, we saw you yesterday at the Victoria. I could not pass him by, you
remember?"
The baby, one beaming smile, nestled his face bashfully in his mother's
neck and patted her cheek, glancing sidewise at his admirers through
brimming tears, while Cassandra, her eyes large and pathetic, turned now
on Laura, now on her mother, stood silent, quivering like one of her own
mountain creatures brought to bay. But she was strengthened as she felt
her baby again in her arms, and as she stood thus looking about her,
every one became silent, and she was constrained to speak. She did not
know that something in her manner and appearance had commanded
silence--something tragic--despairing. It was but for an instant, then
she turned to Lady Laura.
[Illustration: _Cassandra stood silent, quivering like one of her own
mountain creatures brought to bay. Page 286._]
"Thank you for comforting him. I ought not to have left him. I nevah did
before, with strangahs." She tried to bid Lady Thryng good-by, but Laura
again besought her to stop and have tea.
"Please do. I fairly adore Americans. I want to talk to you; I mean, to
hear you talk."
Cassandra had mastered herself at last, and replied quietly: "I don't
guess I can stay, thank you. You have been so kind." Then she said to
Lady Thryng, "Good-by," and moved away. Laura walked by her side to the
carriage.
"I hope you'll come again sometime, and let me know you."
"You are right kind to say that. I shall nevah forget." Then, leaning
down from the carriage seat, and looking steadily in Laura's warm, dark
eyes, she added: "No, I shall nevah forget. May I kiss you?"
"You sweet thing!" said the girl, impulsively, and, reaching up, they
kissed. Cassandra said in her heart, "For David," and was driven away.
Laura found her mother standing where they had left her. She had been
deeply stirred by the sight of Cassandra with the child in her arms. Not
that beautiful mothers and lovely children were rare in England; but
that, except for the children of the poor, no little one like this had
been in her own home or so near her in all the years of her widowhood.
It was the sight of that strong mother love, overpowering and sweeping
all before it, recognizing no lesser call--the secret and holy power
that lies in the Christ-mother, for all periods and all peoples--she
herself had felt it--and the cry that had burst from Cassandra's lips,
"My baby--he is mine." Tears stood in Lady Thryng's eyes, and yet it was
such a simple little thing. Mothers and babies? Why, they were
everywhere.
"She moved like a tragic queen," said Lady Clara. "What was the matter?"
"Nothing, only her baby had been crying; but wasn't he a love?" said
Lady Laura.
"I say! He was a perfect dear!" said one and another.
"I don't care much for babies," said Lady Clara. "They ought to be
trained to stay with their nurses and not cry after their mammas like
that. Fancy having to take such a child around with one everywhere, even
in making a formal call, you know! Isn't it absurd? American women spoil
their children dreadfully, I have heard."