THE ESCAPE
"_I am the most wise Baviaan, saying in most wise tones:
'Let us melt into the landscape--just us two by our lones.--
People have come in a carriage--calling!...
Here's your boots--I've brought 'em--and here's your cap and stick,
And here's your pipe and tobacco. Oh, come along out
of it--quick!_"--Kipling.
They were pledged to dine at the Chase that night, and had no
reasonable excuse for failing to fulfil their engagement. They went
accordingly, and Virginia donned for the first time bridal white satin
and lace.
Osbert came in from his room when she was nearly ready, his hands full
of leather cases, and proceeded to array her in what she considered a
most outrageous excess of diamonds. She was loath to spoil his
pleasure, and so consented to wear them, to the immense satisfaction of
Grover.
When they arrived at the Chase she had to own that Osbert had been
wiser than she, for although Lady St. Aukmund called it a "quite
informal dinner," they found a party of twenty, including most of the
county set. Their entrance was the signal for an ovation for which they
had both been unprepared. Osbert's heroism was already known, it
appeared, to everybody present; and the attention he received so
overwhelmed him that his wife was in dread lest he should retire into
his shell and scowl upon his admirers in what the daring girl already
described as "his old, bad manner."
However, in response to her wireless telegraphy, he acquitted himself
quite creditably, and found himself able not merely to endure but to
glory in the chorus of congratulation which he was called upon to
receive after the withdrawal of the ladies from table. Now that he knew
himself to be, by some miracle of grace which he did not profess to be
able to understand, in possession of Virginia's heart, he was free to
exult in the praise of her loveliness and charm which was universally
expressed.
But when it was over, and the car was carrying them swiftly homeward
through a moonless night--when he drew her into his arms and held her
there, still half-incredulous of his own bliss--his first words were:
"I say, Virgie, let us bolt--shan't we, darling?"
"Bolt?" she questioned, puzzled.
"Get away from everybody--just you and I together. Let us set out upon
our honeymoon. We'll go to the Riviera--or to Rome. Would you like
that?"
There was a second's pause before she replied--just time for a tiny
doubt to stab him. Then she answered low: "Yes, I _should_ like
it. Let us go! How strange that I should feel so! But I do!"
"Thank God!" he said with a gasp. "But quite alone, Virgie? Can you do
without Grover?"
"But of course, silly! I am accustomed to do without a maid----"
"Then we'll be off, all unbeknown! I can't stand it, you know, all this
act-of-heroism business. It turns me sick! And there'll be Rosenberg
calling me his preserver, or some other bad name like that. We can get
to London to-morrow, and I will give orders for them to dismantle the
house and redecorate while we are away. Isn't that a good scheme?"
She thought it excellent, and approved so warmly that he went on glibly:
"We will buy anything we want in London, and settle a route when we are
there. Caunter is quite fit to be left in charge of the place; and I
had all the designs prepared by the man who did your room, so you have
only to approve and they can get to work."
"If I were talking to Tony, I would say that it is ripping!"
"Then say so to me. Say anything to me. Don't, for pity's sake, be shy
of me, Virgie."
"I'll try not. But you must own that you are rather formidable, are you
not?"
"You ought to be punished for saying so."
"There! You see, you are still a tyrant, disguise it how you may!"
"Virgie, there is just one thing I am dying to know. May I ask?"
"You may ask; but whether I shall tell you----"
"Well, it's just this. Did Rosenberg make love to you that day you went
motoring with him?"
"No, certainly not! He has never made love to me."
"Honestly, my sweet, he does admire you?"
"I used to think so. He tried to make me think that he was heart-broken
the first time we met in Queen Anne Street. But nothing more than that."
"He seems to have managed very badly."
"He managed so badly that I felt more vexed with him than I could have
thought possible. He had no right to be so careless of me that day at
Bignor. I was in his charge and he put me in a very uncomfortable
position. I have not forgiven him. I don't feel the same towards him as
I did."
Her voice was quietly judicial, her manner wholly natural. Gaunt could
not but realise that here was no rival to be feared.
"You liked him once, though?" he went on, to make himself doubly sure.
"What--before I was married? Yes, I suppose I did. I thought I did. It
was just a delightful experience to feel that he thought me pretty. By
the way, do you think me pretty, Osbert?"
"No."
"I thought not. But I am, you know."
"Little peacock! You should have heard what everybody was saying of you
when you went out of the dining-room to-night! These absurd ears must
have been quite hot! How stunning you looked in the diamonds! I am glad
I made you wear them.... It is a curious thing that, since I first saw
you, you have altered completely. I used to think you were like your
mother, and now----"
She broke in eagerly. "So have you! How odd! You are quite, quite
different from what you used to be. Ever so much nicer!"
"You won't leave off loving me because I am no longer morose and
miserable?"
"No, for I am vain enough to believe that, if I ceased to love you, you
might again become morose and miserable."
"What have you done to me, Virgie?" he whispered vehemently.
"Turned the Beast into a Prince, that's all," she laughed, her cheek
close-pressed to his.
* * * * *
Mrs. Mynors was hopelessly bored. Worthing without Gerald or Virgie was
simply too dull a hole. It needed but the news of Gerald's accident to
make her feel that her sojourn by the southern shore was unendurable.
Here was Virgie, her beloved child, who had travelled in a totally
unfit state of health for a journey, and must now be very ill, since no
word had come from her for three days! And here was Gerald, laid up
close by, at the Ferrises, longing for some one to cheer him and talk
to him in a congenial fashion.
If she travelled to Derbyshire she could gratify her maternal anxiety
and her wish to see poor dear Gerald, both at the same time. It struck
her as the best plan not to announce her forthcoming arrival. Gaunt was
an unspeakable brute, a thorough boor, and would refuse to receive her
if she gave him half a chance. But if she arrived _a
l'improviste_, with the plea of irresistible maternal solicitude, he
could not have his door shut in her face. Besides, such a move would
put an end, once and for all, to his intolerable attitude towards
herself.
Virgie, by flying in the face of her mother's wishes and going back to
him, had, of course, settled her own fate. She had insisted upon
returning, and now she must stay. It would be a pretty state of affairs
indeed if it should get about that Gaunt declined to receive his
mother-in-law. Seeing that for her to exist upon the pittance provided
was out of the question, she must spend about three months in every
year at Omberleigh; and this was most evidently the moment to make a
definite coup and show Osbert that she meant to stand no nonsense. To
have her in the house would give her poor child courage to stand up to
the tyrant. She would soon mend his manners for him, if she once found
herself established under his roof.
It was a wild, cold, stormy afternoon when she alighted at the station;
and upon learning the distance to the house and the price demanded by
the fly-driver for the journey, she rather regretted her decision to
come unannounced. However, there was no help for it, so she and her
luggage were placed in and upon the vehicle, and they trundled off in
the fast-falling, gusty rain.
Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt, since the acquisition of the car, had made use of
Derby as their point of departure. Thus, at the local station, nobody
was able to tell Mrs. Mynors that they were away.
She thought she had never seen more desolate country than that which
they presently traversed. It seemed to her that they had driven for
hours when at last they came to a lodge and a drive gate, blocked by a
great cart full of bricks.
A young man in riding clothes was standing by the roadside and
addressing vigorous reproof to the driver of the cart, who had knocked
against the gate-post with his wheel. This young man stared in mute
astonishment at sight of the carriage from the station, and the lady
with two or three large trunks. He said nothing, however, and after
some delay they passed through and on, along the now almost pitch-dark
avenue.
In the centre of the gravel sweep was a place where they were mixing
mortar. The men were just striking work for the day, and upon the front
doorsteps sacking had been laid down. Within was a scene of the utmost
confusion--partially stripped walls, canvas-covered floor, heaps of
boards, tubs and trestles.
"Good gracious!" ejaculated the visitor in horror. "Is this what my
child is called upon to put up with?"
The driver descended and rang a jangling peal upon the bell. After some
delay, Hemming, in a linen coat, with a green baize apron, came in
astonishment to the door.
"Is Mrs. Gaunt at home?" demanded the lady regally.
"No, ma'am, she is not."
"Mr. Gaunt, then?"
"No, ma'am; they are both away--and likely to be for some time to come."
"Away? Do you mean that they will not be home any time to-day?"
"Not for some weeks, ma'am, as I understood. They talk of being home
for Christmas," said Hemming mildly, gazing with apprehension at the
driver, who showed signs of being about to unload the trunks.
"You must be misinforming me. I am Mrs. Gaunt's mother. Had they been
leaving home, I should certainly have been made aware of their plans. I
insist upon coming in. I believe that Mr. Gaunt has given you
instructions to say they are not at home to visitors, but that will not
apply to me."
"I assure you, ma'am, that Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt left on Monday for the
continong--what part I do not as yet know."
"Did Mrs. Gaunt take Grover with her?"
"She did not, ma'am. Perhaps you would like to see Miss Grover?"
"Send her to me at once," was the reply, while the speaker's heart
swelled with resentment. He had taken Virgie away, somewhere out of
reach, out of touch with those who loved her! What might she not be
enduring?
Grover presently came along the dismantled hall. She wore an expression
of complacency which made Mrs. Mynors feel ready to strike the woman.
"I come here," she began, "to see how my poor daughter is, and I find
she has been hurried away, nobody knows where. What information can you
give me?"
Grover wiped her hands upon her apron doubtfully. Evidently she had
been engaged upon the work of packing up the house ready for the
onslaught of the British workman.
"Dear me, ma'am, what a pity you didn't send a wire to say you was
coming! I could have saved you the trouble," said Grover. "Mrs. Gaunt
is very well indeed, and Mr. Gaunt and she is gone off upon their
honeymoon, ma'am. I daresay they'll be away a couple of months."
"I suppose I may at least claim shelter for the night in my daughter's
house?" demanded Mrs. Mynors with a voice which shook with
mortification.
"Well, ma'am, I don't hardly know where we could put you," was the meek
reply. "The whole house is upset, for it is to be redecorated from top
to bottom. I do really think, ma'am, that you would be more comfortable
at the station hotel. We are all upside down, as you can see." She
turned to the butler. "Hemming," said she, "wouldn't it be better if
you was to pay the driver and let him go? Then we can give Mrs. Mynors
a cup of tea, as I know Mrs. Gaunt would wish, and send her down to
Derby in the car, to catch the late express to town. Wouldn't that be
best, ma'am?" As Mrs. Mynors hesitated, she added: "There's but one
room in the house fit for you to sit down in, and that is Mrs. Gaunt's
boodwor. I have been so busy helping above stairs, I haven't had a
minute yet to pack it up. This way, ma'am."
Feeling that opposition was useless, Mrs. Mynors picked her dainty way
along the hall, while Hemming paid off the fly-driver and lifted the
trunks into the entrance, out of the rain. Grover, as she went, kept up
a running fire of information.
"A dark passage, ma'am, but you will see a great difference when the
alterations are made. A window is to be knocked through here, and the
bushes outside cleared away, and a bit of a Dutch garden put in, so
Mrs. Gaunt tells me. This is her own room, ma'am, that Mr. Gaunt had
done up for a surprise for her when she come home. She was pleased,
too. I never see her so delighted, pretty dear."
Mrs. Mynors walked in. The last ray of sunshine slanted over the wide
landscape without, and gilded the delicate colouring of the room. She
stood there, noting every detail.
"I wish you could have seen her, ma'am, the night before they started
off," purred Grover. "Lady St. Aukmund, she give a dinner-party in her
honour, and Mr. Gaunt had had all the family jools re-set. She wore
white satin, ma'am, and with the diamonds and all she did look a
perfect picture. We heard afterwards as all the county was talking
about her. Mr. Gaunt, it's pretty to see how proud he is of her. But it
is but natural they should want to be by themselves a bit at first.
Everybody is talking about Mr. Gaunt's courage, the way he went down
the mine after that young Mr. Rosenberg! There! It was a fine deed,
wasn't it, ma'am? Sit down, I will bring you some tea directly."
She left the room, and Virginia's mother, her mouth set in hard lines,
stood gazing about her. She thought of Osbert as she first remembered
him, in his impetuous youth. What magic wand had touched him now,
raising up love and youth from their ashes? Was he indeed lavishing
upon Virgie--Virgie, her little girl, her willing drudge, to whom she
had deputed all disagreeable duties--the torrent of devotion which she
might once have had?
Very sincerely at that moment did she repent her own inconstancy. Had
she had the courage to stick to Osbert, her fidelity would have been
rewarded quite soon. He was not as rich a man as Bernard had been when
first they married--at least, she supposed not. Yet she knew that with
him for a husband she would never have been suffered to dissipate a
fortune. His strong hand would have been over her. She would have been
governed instead of governing.
She stood in the window and turned her eyes upon the delicate statue of
Love. Idly she read the inscription around its base. Then her eye
caught a little brass plate affixed to the black marble shaft near the
top.
_O.G. V.O. JUNE 30th, 19--_
It was the date of their first meeting.
She was still contemplating this, in profound reflection, when Grover
came back with the tea.
"You must excuse deficiencies, ma'am. Hemming have locked up pretty
near all the silver; with so many workmen about you need eyes in the
back of your head. Was you looking at the statue, ma'am? Mr. Gaunt had
it made, so Mrs. Gaunt tells me, to commemorate their first meeting. As
I daresay you know, ma'am, it was love at first sight with him. And who
can wonder? Well, he deserves to be happy, doesn't he? For he risked
all his future, and hers, to save that young man. They say he was as
near dead as anybody could be, to come back at all; but Mrs. Gaunt, she
wouldn't let them give up.
"She sat there, so Ransom tells me, holding his head, nursing him in
her arms as she sat on the grass, and calling to him, so pitiful, there
was hardly a dry eye, ma'am, for every one thought she was speaking to
a dead man. Then, when his eyelids flickered, it seemed like a miracle.
So at last he opens his eyes, and, 'Do you know me?' she says. And he
answers very low, but you could hear it all right: '_My wife!_' he
says.
"Just fancy, ma'am! And with that she broke down, and cried till they
couldn't stop her, with the sudden relief. More than two hours she had
been crouching there, cramped up on the ground."
Mrs. Mynors was too interested even to feign indifference. She made
Grover give her all the details of the expedition, and relate exactly
what had taken place. Grover was more than willing, and the tale lost
nothing in the telling.
"Like a pair of children, they was," she concluded, "when they started
off on their travels. Him laughing and talking like a boy going home
for the holidays. Making their escape, they called it, for of course
the whole countryside was buzzing with the story of what he had done,
and the carriages and cars came up the drive so fast, Hemming was to
and fro the whole day taking in cards, telling them that Mr. Gaunt was
not feeling quite equal to seeing visitors, when all the time he was
upstairs with her, packing their things for the escape!
"Well, ma'am, we always knew that a wife was what he wanted, but I
never dared to hope for such a sweet young lady as he chose. They say
marriages are made in heaven, don't they? There's not much doubt but
what this one was, I take it upon myself to say!"
* * * * *
Virginia's mother finished her tea in a speculative silence. Grover
left her to herself, but when she had eaten and drunk she did not seem
inclined to linger. Rising, she went to the window and stood awhile
gazing out upon the activities of many gardeners, hard at work below
the terrace upon the beginning of the bride's rock garden. Her face
seemed to grow sharp and pinched as her eyes followed the busy scene.
Turning, she contemplated the marble Love; and her pretty teeth bit
into her lower lip, while her breath came hissingly.
_Made in heaven!_ A wild laugh broke from her. Its mirthless
cadence fell hatefully upon the silence. Nebuchadnezzar, when he cast
his victims into the burning fiery furnace, was, it is recorded,
thankful to find them coming forth unscathed. This woman had cast her
daughter, bound, into the hellish gulf of a loveless marriage. Now that
she saw her walking free and companied by the husband whose very soul
she had redeemed, there was no joy, no relief, but a bitterness of hate
which transformed the pretty features into a mask of horror.
Suddenly she snatched her wraps, as if the scene were unbearable. She
hastened into the disembowelled hall and, putting on her coat amid many
apologies from Grover for enforced inhospitality, went out to the
waiting car.
* * * * *
It was her only glimpse of her daughter's home for many years to come.
This was not from lack of invitation, for all Osbert's hatred, and
every lingering grudge, vanished in the sunshine of his personal
happiness. It was simply that her narrow soul was torn with envy.
The sound of Tony's laughter and shouting soon re-echoed through the
garden and stables; the ring of his pony's hoofs could be heard along
the avenue. Pansy's invalid chair set out upon the terrace the
following summer, where Virgie had once lain, watched secretly by her
husband from the shelter of his den. Even the Rosenbergs came for a
week's motoring, when Gerald had practically recovered from his hideous
accident.
Boys, girls, dogs, cats--a perpetual stream of youth ebbed and flowed
about the erstwhile silent place. But Virginia the elder came not.
Even when Osbert the second made his glorious appearance--when bonfires
were lit in the village, and Lord and Lady St. Aukmund stood sponsors
at a stately baptismal ceremony--the mother still held aloof.
Virginia's unhappiness she could have borne. Virginia the radiant young
wife and mother, central point of attention, mistress of Gaunt's heart
and all that he possessed, was a perpetual reminder of what she herself
had flung away. With her daughter's life as the price, she had
purchased freedom from want. Yet, from the time when it dawned upon her
that the girl was miraculously saved, she never knew a moment free from
the gnawing tooth of jealous bitterness.
The joy which these two had so perilously snatched from the jaws of
destiny was more than she dare contemplate.
THE END
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End of Project Gutenberg's The Daughter Pays, by Mrs. Baillie Reynolds