MRS. JOHN.
Henderson parted from Mrs. Temple with every nerve in his body
throbbing with excitement. In spite of May Churchill's rejection of his
love, his unreasonable passion for her remained unchanged. There were
times when he felt he hated her; when he cursed her memory, and blamed
her for the undying remorse that overshadowed his soul. But for her, he
often told himself, the miserable girl who had loved him too well might
have been living still, and he himself free from the galling chains
held by his groom, Jack Reid.
But if he hated May, it was a sort of loving hatred, while his feelings
to John Temple were of the bitterest description. He believed but that
for Temple, May would ultimately have become his wife; and as he strode
down the lane, after parting with Mrs. Temple, he seemed to see again,
in his mental vision, John lying at May's feet in Fern Dene in the
early days of their first acquaintance.
And that he should have induced her to leave her home; that she was
writing to him in the terms described by Mrs. Temple, positively
seemed to madden him.
"But it may be some other woman," he told himself, as he had told Mrs.
Temple. But at all events he would find out, and on his return to the
Grange, to his mother's great surprise, and not a little alarm, he told
her he was about to start for London in a few hours.
Hidden anxiety and grief had wrought their baneful work now on Mrs.
Henderson's face. The terrible knowledge of her son's crime, the awful
dread of its punishment, were ever present in her mind. She had grown
old before her time, and watched Henderson with unceasing eyes of fear.
Thus when she heard of his sudden journey she could scarcely suppress
her nervousness. Henderson, too, was moody and reserved, and hurried on
his preparations for departure.
"Will you be long away?" inquired Mrs. Henderson.
"But a few days at most," he answered, and he told the same story to
his groom, Jack Reid.
"This is something sudden," said Reid, looking at him suspiciously.
It crossed the man's mind, indeed, that his master was about to leave
Stourton for a much longer time than he stated.
"I'll be back probably the day after to-morrow," said Henderson, with
affected carelessness; and Reid felt he could say nothing more, for he
had grown certainly more respectful in his manner to his master after
the episode of the shooting of Brown Bess.
"A man who would try his hand at that kind of thing might do it again,"
self-argued the groom; and Reid was not one who cared to be shot at if
he could help it.
So Henderson left Stourton, and having arrived in town, he went for
the night to an hotel, and the next morning drove in the direction of
the address which he had received from Mrs. Temple. And Fate actually
favored him, for quitting his cab before he reached Pembridge Terrace,
he walked up the terrace, and after passing Miss Webster's house for a
few yards he turned back again, and as he did so he saw, in a moment,
descending the steps in front of the house a figure and face that he
only remembered too well.
It was May Churchill, and closely following her came the prim, neat
form of Miss Eliza Webster. They opened the garden gate and then went
on the street, and Henderson was so near them that had May turned her
head she must have recognized him. But she was smiling and talking
to Miss Eliza, and never looked back, but Henderson distinctly saw
the face that had cost him so dear. He paused a minute or two, and
then slowly followed the two ladies before him. They went on to
Westbourne Grove, and into a large bonnet and hat shop at the corner
of the street. Henderson lingered outside at a little distance from
the shop, and after waiting about a quarter of an hour May and Miss
Eliza once more appeared, and turned their footsteps homeward. Again
Henderson followed them, his heart throbbing violently and his eyes
never leaving May's form. They went straight back to the address Mrs.
Temple had given him, and Henderson now knew Mrs. Temple's surmise had
been correct. John Temple had persuaded her to leave her home, and had
hidden her away, and Henderson could scarcely suppress the passionate
rage that swelled in his breast when he thought of it.
He was tempted to go on; to speak to May, and heap reproach on her
head. But he knew he had no right to do this. She might be John
Temple's wife, for anything he knew, and what good could his hard words
do? None, he felt. He might, he would, punish John Temple, but what
could he do to the girl? With a curse between his bitten lips he turned
away, and walking back to the shop he had seen May and Miss Webster
enter and leave, he went in under the pretense of buying a bonnet for
his mother.
"I want a bonnet for an old lady," he said to a pretty, smiling
shopwoman, adding immediately afterward: "Who were the two ladies who
have just been here--I saw them go out--a young lady and an old one?"
The pretty shopgirl smiled pertly, and instantly understood the motive
of the purchase of the bonnet for "an old lady," by this handsome
young man.
"You mean Mrs. John, I suppose, sir?" she said. "She is a very handsome
young lady, and it is astonishing how many gentlemen admire her and ask
about her, but she is certainly very pretty."
"And does she live near here?" inquired Henderson.
"She lives in Pembridge Terrace with the Misses Webster. She is a
newly-married lady, but I believe her husband is a good deal away. She
is a customer of ours, and is often in the shop."
"And her name is--"
"Mrs. John; rather a strange name, isn't it, sir?"
"Mrs. John," repeated Henderson, beneath his breath, but he did nothing
more. He understood it all now; she had run away with John Temple, and
was called Mrs. John, and he needed no further information.
He forgot all about the bonnet for his mother until the shopwoman
reminded him of it.
"Choose what you like," he said, "the lady is elderly--my mother--and a
widow."
"But does she wear a widow's bonnet, sir?"
"I think not," answered Henderson, indifferently. "Something dark and
good--what will it cost?"
This matter was soon settled. The shopwoman chose a bonnet, and
Henderson paid for it, and then drove back straight to his hotel. When
he arrived there he at once addressed the following letter to Mrs.
Temple:
"DEAR MRS. TEMPLE: You were quite right. May Churchill is living at
the address you gave me in Pembridge Terrace, and is called Mrs. John.
I saw her leave the house and go into a shop, accompanied by an old
woman. I went into the shop after they left it, and one of the girls
there told me that she--May--was a Mrs. John, and that she was a
newly-married woman, which I greatly doubt. I shall return to Stourton
to-day, and go to-morrow morning with my news to Woodside Farm. May's
father shall know how his daughter has been treated. And I remain,
"Yours sincerely,
"T. HENDERSON."
This letter reached Woodlea Hall on the following morning, and when
the squire opened the letter-bag, as was his wont, he rose and placed
Henderson's letter in his wife's hand.
"Here is a letter from London for you, Rachel," he said.
Mrs. Temple's handsome face flushed, and then grew pale. She had not
expected to hear for a few days, at least, from Henderson, yet she
knew this letter was from him. She gave once glance of her dark eyes
at John Temple's face, who was sitting at his usual place at the
breakfast-table, and then without a word she rose and left the room,
carrying her letter in her hand.
But she was scarcely outside the door when she opened it. She read it
in the hall, and a hard and bitter look came over her expression as she
did so. She had been prepared for this news, yet it fell like a fresh
blow upon her heart. That subtle feeling, whose existence she would not
even admit, filled her with indignation against John Temple.
"He shall leave here and go to his Mrs. John," she whispered to herself
vindictively. "I will wait until Philip leaves the breakfast-room, and
then I shall go to him and tell him all. John Temple had better have
trusted me--now he shall have to pay the fullest price for his folly."
And she only waited until she heard her husband go, as he was
accustomed to do, into the library after breakfast before she descended
the staircase with Henderson's letter in her hand. She went direct
to the library and entered it, without knocking at the door, and the
squire who was sitting before his writing table looked up as she did so.
"Were you not well at breakfast, Rachel?" he said, kindly. "Or," he
added, noticing the expression of her face, "did anything in that
letter that you got vex you?"
"I was not ill," she answered, "but this letter confirmed some shameful
news that I have come to tell you about John Temple."
"Shameful news about John Temple!" repeated the squire, pushing back
his chair and looking straight at his wife's pale, determined face.
"At least I call it shameful," she went on, "to induce a country girl
to leave her home--a daughter of one of your own tenants--to deceive
you, his best friend. Philip, you remember the girl, May Churchill, who
ran away? I suspected at the time that John Temple had something to do
with it, and now I know. This girl is living at an address in London,
and is called there Mrs. John, and she writes to him here, and if she
is not married to him she ought to be--and I do not believe she is."
"I will never believe this!" said the squire, rising in great emotion,
his aged face growing pale. "What! John Temple wrong May Churchill; the
little girl I have known since she was a child; the daughter of a man
like Churchill, whom I respect, and who has lived on my land since he
was a lad, and his father before him! Rachel, what folly is this? Who
has been telling you this wicked, this insane story?"
"My own eyes told me first," answered Mrs. Temple, in a hard,
concentrated voice, "and every word that I have told you is true. Do
you remember when he used to get large letters which he said were from
some late landlady of his, and contained his unpaid bills? I suspected
at that time he was not speaking the truth, and a day or two after I
learned this was so. He got one of these large letters at breakfast,
and he put it in his pocket unread. I said at the time, 'more bills?'
and he answered, 'I am afraid so.' Well, after the breakfast was over,
I went upstairs, and passed his sitting-room door, and it was standing
ajar. I wanted to speak to him about going to call at Homelands, and I
went into the room. He was not there, but an open letter was lying on
the table. I went up to the table and read the first lines. It began:
'My dearest, dearest John.'"
"But what of that?" said Mr. Temple, angrily. "You had no right to read
or look at his letters for one thing, and for another, how could you
tell by whom this letter was written?"
"I looked at the printed address on the paper, and I remembered it,
and just at this moment I saw through the open bedroom door that John
Temple was on the balcony of the little ante-room beyond. So I turned
and left the sitting-room and he never knew that I had been there. Then
I considered what to do, for I was determined to bring this home to
him, and I suddenly remembered young Henderson of Stourton Grange--"
"What on earth had he to do with it?" interrupted the squire.
"He had been in love, was in love, like the rest of them, with this
girl," answered Mrs. Temple, scornfully, "and so I used him for my
purpose. He had spoken to me once about his suspicions that Miss
Churchill had eloped with John Temple, or rather that he had persuaded
her to run away from home, so that he might join her afterward. So I
wrote to ask Henderson to meet me--"
"You wrote to ask young Henderson to meet you?"
"Yes, what harm was there in that? I met him near the West Lodge for
a few minutes the day before yesterday, and I gave him the address I
had seen on Miss Churchill's letter to John Temple, and I asked him to
go up to town and find out the truth about this girl. He went the same
night, and this is the letter I received from him this morning."
She handed the squire Henderson's letter, with a trembling hand as she
spoke, and her husband's hand trembled also as he took it. Then he read
the words it contained, and a terribly shocked look came over his face.
"If this be true--" he said, with faltering lips.
"It is true," answered Mrs. Temple, positively. "Don't you remember she
ran away, and then after a week or so he said he was going abroad? He
went no doubt to join her; she was with him all those weeks abroad,
and then he must have brought her back to town, and no doubt would have
gone up from time to time to see her. The whole thing is perfectly
plain."
"Then in that case all I can say is that it is a shameful affair. Most
shameful--but he may have married her--probably has, and if he has not
done so, he must."
Mr. Temple went hastily to the bell of the room and rang it as he
spoke, and when the footman answered it, he said sharply and distinctly:
"Ask Mr. John Temple to come here at once; tell him I wish to see him."
The footman disappeared with his message, and Mrs. Temple stood still.
She was excited, pale, and determined, and she did not flinch when she
heard John Temple's step outside the door.
Then he entered and looked at his uncle.
"You wish to see me, Johnson says," he began, but something in the
squire's face told him it was no ordinary message that he had received.
"Yes," answered the squire, "I wish to see you, for I have just heard
a tale which, if it be true, will make me bitterly regret that I ever
asked you under my roof."
"And what is it?" asked John Temple, and he drew himself up to his full
height.
"It is that you induced the young girl May Churchill to leave her
home; that you took her abroad with you, and that she is now living in
London, I presume, under your protection, and is called Mrs. John. Now
answer, is this true?"
A dark wave of color spread to John Temple's very brows.
"Who has told you this?" he said, looking steadily at his uncle.
"My wife has just told me," answered the squire. "It seems she
suspected this, and she saw a letter lying on your table bearing a
certain address in town. She told young Henderson of this, who it seems
is, or was once, a lover of this poor girl's, and she gave him the
address, and this is the letter she has received this morning."
The squire handed Henderson's letter to John Temple as he spoke, and
John read it through and then laid it down quietly on the writing-table
before him.
"A truly honorable transaction altogether, I must say," he said,
scornfully, fixing his gray eyes on Mrs. Temple's face.
"It is true," she answered defiantly.
"True or false, it was an action that I thought no gentlewoman could
have been guilty of. What, to send one man to watch and spy on another
man's actions; to read a letter not intended for your eyes! I could not
have believed you capable of such conduct."
Mrs. Temple's eyes fell before John's reproaches, and a vague feeling
crept into her heart that she had left her work undone.
"It is useless to talk thus," said the squire, with some dignity of
manner; "my wife should not have read your letter, and I have told her
so, but this does not alter the matter. You have not denied this grave
charge, and if you have done this girl any wrong--a girl I have known
since her childhood--you must undo that wrong as far as lies in your
power. I mean you must marry her, if you have not already done so."
John Temple made no answer to this; he stood there facing his uncle,
and Mrs. Temple watched him fugitively.
"Have you married her, or have you not?" urged the squire.
"I decline to answer that question," then said John Temple. "But you
said you had regretted that you had asked me to stay under your roof.
You need regret it no longer, for I will leave to-day."
"But your leaving will not undo the wrong that you have done. Think
for a moment who this poor girl is, the daughter of one of my oldest
and most respected tenants; a beautiful girl, of blameless character
hitherto, who perhaps in her foolish love for you has wrecked her young
life. John, you are my nephew, you are my heir, and I entreat you to
act now as an honorable man should do, and make her your wife."
Still John Temple made no promise.
"You have read in that letter," continued the squire, pointing to
Henderson's open letter lying on the writing-table, "how this young man
is going to her father. Can you suppose that a respectable man like
Churchill will, for a moment, sit down tamely under such an insult? No,
you will have to answer to him for your conduct, as well as to me."
But at this moment a rap came to the room door, and the squire paused.
"Come in," he called, and the footman entered.
"If you please, sir," he said, addressing the squire, "Mr. Henderson,
of Stourton Grange, and Mr. Churchill have called, and wish very
particularly to see you."
"Where are they?" asked the squire.
"In the hall, sir," replied the footman.
"You can show them in here," said the squire, and he looked at John
Temple as he spoke.
But John Temple made no sign; he had grown a little pale, and that was
all.