|MY Lady returned to the Abbey at the usual luncheon-hour, and partook
of that meal (if sitting at the table can be called so doing) with the
rest of the party; while Mary Forest kept watch at the boudoir window,
with her mistress's opera-glasses in her hand, scanning the Windmill
Hill.
There was no likelihood of Derrick's coming for hours yet, since he
had not arrived already by the same train that had brought old Jacob's
letter; but there was just a possibility of this. However, he did not
come. The unfrequented road, which on the morrow would be thronged with
the vehicles of Sir Richard's guests, had not a single passenger. It
was one of the two ways we have spoken of leading to Dalwynch, and
the shorter in point of distance, although not of time, because of the
winding hill; but Derrick, coming from the direction of Coveton (not by
the Dalwynch line, but another railway), could approach Mirk by no other
route.
Immediately after luncheon, the carriage drew up at the door.
“I will not offer to go with you, dearest mother,” said Letty, “because
there is so much to do at home, and the more because you will be
absent yourself. But you will come back as soon as you can--there's a
darling!--won't you? Nothing goes on as it should at the Abbey without
you.”
“Yes, dear Letty! I will come back as soon as I can.”
My Lady cast a wistful look at her three children. She would have given
a thousand pounds to have thrown her arms around their necks, and wept
her fill; but such an indulgence might have cost them and her far more
than that, or anything which money could estimate. What if her strength
should fail her--if she should “break down,” as the saying is, at this
supremest moment? She could only trust herself to nod and smile.
The whole party went out to the front door to see her off. The two young
ladies standing on the hall steps with their arms round one another's
waists (although I much doubt if they had grown to be the friends that
they once were); Master Walter kissing his white hand to her with all
the grace and fondness of a lover; Sir Richard handing her into the
carriage with stately but affectionate courtesy. “The lower road--to
Lever's the watchmaker's in High Street,” said he to the coachman, “and
don't spare the horses.” Then, as the carriage drove away, he observed
to the others: “What a strange freak it is of mamma to be going to
Dalwynch at such a time as this about her watch. However, she ought to
be back by five o'clock at latest.”
The carriage did return even before that hour; but it did not contain
my Lady. It only brought back a letter from her, which the footman was
instructed to place at once in the hands of her elder son. The
man, however, had some difficulty in finding Sir Richard, who was
superintending some finishing-touches that were being given to the
interior of the marquee--the arrangement of certain flags over the place
he was to occupy on the morrow. Sir Richard tore open the note, fearing
he knew not what; then uttered a tremendous oath. His people stared,
for unlike some “young masters,” the baronet scarcely ever misbehaved
himself in that way. “Where did you leave my Lady, sirrah?” inquired he
roughly of the footman.
“At the railway station, Sir Richard. Her Ladyship took the train for
town.”
“Where is Miss Letty? Walter--Walter,” cried the baronet, “come here.”
“Hollo, what is it?” answered the captain, a little sulkily, for he was
engaged in setting up an emblem composed of various weapons of war
at the other end of the marquée; and pretty Polly, the gatekeeper's
daughter, was handing him up certain highly-polished swords, and he was
playfully accusing her of using them in transit as mirrors. “You haven't
found out a mistake in the almanac, and that you came of age the day
before yesterday, have you?”
“Worse than that,” returned poor Sir Richard simply. “Read that, man.
What, in Heaven's name, are we to do now?”
“Let us go in and see Letty,” said Walter gravely, after he had read the
note. “Perhaps she knows something about it; and if not, you may take
your oath that Mary Forest does.”
“Do _you_, Walter? Don't trifle with me,” said the baronet earnestly;
“if any business respecting yourself has taken my mother away, I conjure
you to tell me all.”
“No, Richard. I give you my word that I know of no reason for this
extraordinary conduct. It is true that that letter from Moss Abrahams
gave her some annoyance, but that matter was settled long ago. I am as
surprised and dumbfounded as yourself.”
“_Dearest Richard!_”--here he again perused my Lady's note--“_urgent
necessity compels me to leave home for a time. You will have the
explanation on the 15th. That there may be many, many happy returns
of to-morrow to you, dear boy, is the heartfelt prayer of your loving
Mother._”--“How extraordinarily strange! When _is_ the 15th? Let's see.”
“The day after to-morrow,” rejoined Sir Richard gloomily. “What will
tomorrow be without our mother? Good Heaven, how dreadful is all this!
Is it possible, think you, to put the people off?”
“Utterly out of the question, Richard; we should require five hundred
messengers.”
They were walking on the lawn, and had now arrived at one of the open
windows of the great ball-room, a splendid apartment, although the
highly-decorated pink ceiling had been likened by a pert young architect
(who wanted to persuade the baronet to let him pull down the Abbey,
and build another one) to the ornaments on a twelfth-cake. Mrs Walter,
Letty, and Arthur Haldane were all very busy here, but the last two
not so entirely occupied with the work in hand as to be unaware of one
another's presence. At another time, Sir Richard would have been annoyed
at seeing them so close together, and obviously so well pleased with
the propinquity, but now he was really glad to meet with the young
barrister, for whose judgment he had a great respect.
“Letty--Arthur,” cried he, “read this. Do either of you know, can either
of you guess, what on earth it means?”
“Mamma not to be here to-morrow!” ejaculated the former, when she had
read the note. “I can scarcely believe my eyes.” But at the same time
there came into her mind that vague but saddening talk which her mother
had held with her but lately, when my Lady had said her malady was not
one the doctors could cure. Arthur read the note twice over, not so much
to master its contents, perhaps, as to frame his own reply to what had
been asked of him.
“I certainly do not know,” said he, “what can have taken your dear mother
at such a time as this. We may be sure, however, it is no mere freak of
fancy, but that it is done for what she believes to be your good.”
“Our _good!_” broke forth Sir Richard impatiently. “How can it be
for good that I should be placed to-morrow in a position the most
embarrassing that can be conceived? What am I to say when people ask me
'Where is your mother?' Imagine what they will think of her absence on
such an occasion, the most important”----
“Let us rather imagine, Richard,” interrupted Letty, laying her hand
upon his arm, “what our dear mother must be suffering at this moment.
As Arthur says, it can be no trivial matter that takes her thus suddenly
away from us; and although she may have over-estimated its urgency, we
may be sure that it is her anxiety for others--that is, for us--which
has caused her to do so. Mamma is incapable of a selfish action.”
“I am not speaking for myself alone, Letty,” returned the baronet hotly.
“I did not accuse you of doing so, Richard. What I mean is this, that
however much you may feel this misfortune, mamma has to bear the burden
of its cause--whatever that may be--alone. She is thinking at this
moment of the alarm and sorrow she has excited here, and we maybe sure
is feeling for us at least as much as we feel for ourselves; and in
addition to that, she has this trouble to bear, at even the nature of
which we cannot guess.”
Sir Richard frowned, and did not reply; but Arthur unobserved stole
Letty's hand, and pressed it, in token of his loving approval. “And who
is the person who is to give us the explanation on the 15th, think you?”
said Walter. “I'll wager--or at least I would do so, if I hadn't given
up betting--that Mistress Forest can tell us if she would.”
“Then let us send for her at once,” cried Sir Richard hastily; “anything
is better than this suspense.”
When the servant called for this purpose had been despatched: “I do not
presume,” said Arthur gravely, “to dictate what is your duty; but if the
case were mine, Sir Richard, and my mother had expressly stated that her
motives would be explained at a certain date, I should hardly like to
extract them beforehand from her confidential servant. Forgive me, for
I know I am addressing one who is himself a man of the most scrupulous
honour.”
The baronet bit his lip. “I don't know, I'm sure, Haldane. It is true,
since my mother has gone to town, that nothing we can do can bring her
back in time for----But at all events there can be no harm in asking how
long she is likely to be away.--Ah, here is Mistress Forest. We want to
hear about my Lady, Mary. She has gone to London, it seems, and we are
not to know why until the day after to-morrow. Now, we are not going to
ask you her reasons.”
“Thank you, Sir Richard,” said Mistress Forest, her puckered eyes
looking really grateful.
“But what we do desire is, that you will tell us how long she will be
away.”
“I am sure I can't tell, sir; Heaven knows I wish. I could,” answered
the waiting-maid fervently. “She sent a big box over to Dalwynch by the
carrier yesterday: that's all I know about it.”
“Then she herself is not going to give us the explanation in person, you
think?” said the baronet gloomily.
“No, Sir Richard: not in person; at least, I believe not. Somebody else
is going to do that for her.”
“And you know who that will be?” returned the young man sternly.
“I think--at least; yes, I know, sir; but it's not me,” added the
waiting-maid hastily. “I hope I know my place better than that. But my
Lady bade me say nothing about it, and, with all respect, wild horses
should not tear it from me.”
Here Mistress Forest, who had always entertained considerable terror of
her austere young master, could not forbear casting a beseeching glance
towards Arthur Haldane.
“We already know from Mr Haldane's own lips,” observed Sir Richard
with emphasis, and looking in the same direction, “that he is not in
possession of the secret of my Lady's departure.”
“I certainly said as much,” returned Arthur haughtily; and with that,
either because he was really annoyed, or did not wish to be further
questioned, he stepped out upon the lawn, and walked away.
“All this is very unsatisfactory, and strange, and bad,” said the
baronet, after a considerable pause. “But nothing is to be got,
it seems, by asking questions. We must do then the best we can for
to-morrow without my mother--you Letty, assisted by Mrs Walter here,
must do the honours of the Abbey in her place--and I wish to Heaven,”
added he, as he turned upon his heel, “that the day was well over.”
“What a nice agreeable temper Richard has, when anything goes wrong,”
observed Walter, twirling his moustaches. “I'm hanged if I don't think
it's that which has driven my mother away from home. She naturally
enough concludes he will be unbearable when he becomes the master.”
“Fie, fie, Walter!” said Letty. “I think it is much more that she can no
longer bear to listen to the cruel things she hears her two sons say
of one another. She has spoken to me of it more than once of late with
tears in her eyes.”
“Well, Sir Richard _has_ a bad temper, Letty, there's no doubt about
that,” observed Mrs Walter, striking in in defence of her husband.
“Yes; yet there are many things worse than that, Rose, and mamma has
been accustomed to Richard all his life; but she has had trouble upon
trouble for the last six months, _as I am sure you cannot deny_, and it
is likely in the state of health to which I know she is reduced, that
she feels herself totally unequal to the part she would be expected to
play to-morrow.”
“I think Mr Haldane knows more of the matter than he chooses to say,”
observed Rose, at once carrying the war into the enemy's camp.
“I don't think you quite understand him,” returned Letty, executing the
same strategic movement; “anything like duplicity is altogether foreign
to his character.”
“He looks simple enough certainly,” remarked Rose quietly. “But I
noticed that when Sir Richard asked him whether he knew, or could
_guess_ what had taken Lady Lisgard from home, he confined himself to
replying that he did not know.”
Letty made no answer, but applied herself with heightened colour to
the occupation in which her brothers had interrupted her. Walter smiled
sardonically, thinking of certain female savages he had been reading of
that morning in some paper in the _Field, apropos_ of rifle-grooves, who
were expert in propelling poisoned darts from blow-pipes; then catching
sight of his handsome face in one of the mirrors with which the
ball-room was wainscoted, he nodded, as though he recognised some friend
he was constantly in the habit of meeting, yet was always glad to see,
and sauntered out. At first, he made mechanically for the marquee, but
stopping himself, not as it seemed without some contention in his own
mind, he turned his steps to some other part of the Park. “No,” said he
to himself gaily, “I will be a good boy. It is true, I have had devilish
hard lines lately, but then it was partly deserved. How, the poor mother
has had just as hard, and has not deserved them a bit. I will do nothing
that can cause her trouble now--not even run the risk of a bit of
harmless flirtation, for there always _is_ a risk about that, somehow.
I wonder whether Letty was right about her going away; I'm sure I can't
help Richard quarrelling with me--he _will_ do it. And then there was
that matter of Moss Abraham's--upon my life it must have been very
trying to the dear old lady. And then there was my affair with
Rose--humph! Well, I'm very sorry, Heaven knows, if my conduct has in
any way contributed to such a catastrophe; but it's something, my dear
mother, let me tell you, when your troubles are of that sort that you
_can_ run away from them. What an infernal fool I have made of myself in
every way!”