A STARTLING ANNOUNCEMENT.
Lady Linton’s letter was handed to her by the butler just as she was
sitting down to lunch.
She had come in just as the bell rang, and leaving her bonnet and wraps
in the hall, went directly to the dining-room without going, as usual,
to her room to make a change in her toilet; she was far too weary and
shaken to mount the stairs.
She broke the seal absently, and began to read in a listless,
preoccupied way, when all at once she uttered a startled exclamation,
and the paper dropped from her nerveless fingers upon the table.
“Why, mamma, what is it? You are as pale as a ghost. Is Cousin William
worse or—dead?” exclaimed Lillian, regarding her mother with mingled
curiosity and astonishment.
“No, but the strangest thing in the world has happened.”
“It must be something strange to disturb your equanimity like this; but
what is it?” inquired the girl, eagerly.
“Your Uncle William is going to be married!”
“You cannot mean it, mamma?—at last!” cried Lillian, amazed; then she
added, with a gay laugh: “The dear old bachelor! Well, you will have
your wish, after all. You have wanted him to marry for the last dozen
years.”
“Yes; and—I am glad—I am delighted!” replied Lady Linton, slowly, but
with strange exultation in her voice, while her eyes gleamed with almost
ferocious triumph.
“Well, I am astonished. I had given Uncle Will up as a hardened case,”
Lillian said, growing more and more surprised, as she considered the
matter; “but do tell me who is the happy woman?”
“A niece of Lord Norton who has just died; you know we read of his death
last week, and I have been wondering why your uncle did not write. This
accounts for it,” replied Lady Linton. Then taking up his letter, she
continued: “I will read you what he says. The epistle is very brief, and
does not sound like him at all, but I suppose we must excuse it under
the circumstances.”
“‘You will doubtless be surprised by the contents of this letter,’ he
writes, ‘and as I have much on my mind, I will simply state bare facts,
leaving details until my return. You already know of my having taken my
cousin’s place as temporary amanuensis to Lord Norton. I was enabled to
complete the manuscript for him the week before his death, which
occurred on the ninth. But, during my visits to him, I met a niece of
his, who, I may say, is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. By
his lordship’s will she becomes the heiress to all his possessions,
which consist of his fine estate called Englewood, here in Chester,
besides a large amount of personal property. To make a long story short,
however, I am going to make this lady my wife, and as I am too old to
waste any time upon forms or so-called etiquette, we intend to be
married immediately—that is, within the month—about the twenty-first, I
think, after which we shall repair to Heathdale, where we shall quietly
remain for the present. The wedding will be strictly private on account
of his lordship’s recent death and in compliance with the request of his
niece. I will, however, notify you further of my plans before the
twenty-first.’”
The epistle closed abruptly and rather formally, and Lady Linton’s face
was crimson as she concluded the reading of it.
“It is the most unheard of thing in the world!” she said, excitedly. “A
private wedding, indeed—not even his own sister invited, and it is all
so sudden that it fairly takes my breath away.”
“They might at least have asked us to go to Englewood to witness the
ceremony,” Lillian observed, thoughtfully. “The letter doesn’t sound a
bit like Uncle Will.”
“I suppose he is so taken up with his bride-elect that he has not much
time or thought for any one else; but he might have told us something
about her; he did not even mention her name; I suppose, however, we are
to infer that she is a Miss Norton. I wonder whether she is young or
old?” Lady Linton said, in an injured tone, and looking both perplexed
and annoyed.
“He says she is beautiful, mamma.”
“Of course; one’s betrothed is always beautiful to the man who is to be
married. They are going directly to Heathdale,” she added, musingly.
“There ought to be some one there to receive them, and the house needs
preparation for the occasion. I think, Lillian, that, notwithstanding I
have been rather shabbily treated in this affair, I shall go down to
Heathdale and give them the best welcome possible at so short a notice.
I can at least brighten things up and arrange for a small dinner-party
and reception in honor of the bride.”
“Perhaps they would prefer not to meet anyone just yet, mamma,” Lillian
suggested.
“I cannot help it. Such a home-coming as that would be too dismal, and
not at all in keeping with the dignity of the family. I shall take
matters into my own hands and conduct the affair as I think best. We
will go to Heathdale the last of the week.”
Her ladyship fell into a profound reverie after announcing this
decision, while Lillian took up the morning paper and began to read.
Lady Linton was deeply hurt by the way that her brother had written of
his approaching marriage, and more so at having been ignored in all the
arrangements; yet in spite of all this she was secretly jubilant over
the fact that Sir William was about to bring a mistress to Heathdale. It
would relieve her of a great burden; of all further plotting and
intrigue regarding the enemy whom she had encountered only that day.
Virginia Alexander might do her worst now—once let the twenty-first of
December pass and she need fear her no more. She might succeed in
securing an acknowledgment from Sir William that Virgie was his lawful
child and a settlement of a portion of his property upon her; but there
would be no longer any fear of the long-parted husband and wife coming
to an understanding with each other—she, at least, would never come to
Heathdale to queen it as mistress.
She had heard of Lord Norton. He was reputed to be very old, very
eccentric, and very literary; but she had not known of what his family
consisted. She did not know, even now, farther than that he had a niece,
but in her present mood, with that bitter hatred against Virginia
Alexander rankling in her heart and the fear that her own past treachery
was liable to be exposed if she was ever allowed to enter Heathdale, she
was prepared to welcome Lord Norton’s heiress in the most cordial
manner, and her spirits rose light as air at the prospect of a new
sister-in-law.
“Mamma,” said Lillian, suddenly looking up from her paper and breaking
in upon these musings, “Uncle Will’s engagement is announced here.”
“What! in the paper? Well, I must say they are rushing things.”
She held out her hand for the sheet, an evil smile on her thin lips, as
she imagined something of the chagrin and disappointment that Mrs.
Alexander would experience upon reading an account of Sir William
Heath’s approaching marriage.
There was quite an extended paragraph regarding it, considerable being
said about the late Lord Norton and his recent death; mention being made
of his having left the whole of his large property to a niece; while the
fact that Sir William Heath was contemplating matrimony with the
“beautiful heiress,” gave rise to some pleasantry, since the
“distinguished baronet having for so many years resisted Cupid’s most
artful endeavors to lead him to Hymen’s altar, his friends and
well-wishers had begun to fear that he was hopelessly invulnerable.”
“Mamma, what will become of us when Uncle Will brings his wife home?”
Lillian asked, somewhat anxiously, as Lady Linton laid down the paper.
The same question had been agitating her ladyship’s mind.
They could not well go to Linton Grange, for Percy was making extensive
improvements in view of his own approaching marriage; they had no home
of their own—in fact they were wholly dependent upon Sir William, and
Lady Linton felt that no place but Heathdale would ever be like home to
her.
“We will not borrow trouble about that, Lillian,” she answered, “this
Miss Norton may be very young and inexperienced; in that case she would
need some older person, like myself, to advise and assist her; so I
imagine that we shall still be welcome in your uncle’s household.”
That evening, at a dinner-party, Lady Linton was besieged by numerous
friends with questions regarding her brother’s engagement.
She looked wise, and appeared as if she had been in the secret for some
time but had not been allowed to divulge anything.
It was true, she admitted, that the marriage was rather a sudden one;
but of course it could not have occurred before, because of Lord
Norton’s critical condition, and there was no reason now why it should
not take place, except for etiquette’s sake, and her brother did not
propose to defer their happiness simply to observe a law of fashion.
They would not, however, appear in society at present, she affirmed, but
remain quietly at Heathdale, perhaps until another season, while there
would only be an informal reception of their oldest friends, at their
home-coming, and to arrange for this she was herself going to Heathdale.
She appeared to be very much elated over the marriage, spoke eloquently
of the bride-elect, of her grace, beauty, and intelligence; for she was
far too proud to allow it to be known that she had been taken as much by
surprise as society at large by the announcement of the event.
To Mrs. Farnum alone she acknowledged it; for that lady called the next
day, and had asked her point-blank some questions which she could not
answer, and she had been obliged to confess that she “did not know.”
“Well, Miriam,” said her friend, “it is rather hard on you, I own, not
to be consulted, or even asked to the wedding, but your heart will be
set at rest on one subject—you need not fear that Alexander woman any
more after the twenty-first.”
“No; she may do her worst then. I have lived in daily terror lest she
should meet William and everything would be explained. What do you
think, Myra?” asked Lady Linton, suddenly. “She has got that diary!”
“What diary?”
“That one I gave to you to keep for me, the summer I was on the
Continent—the diary you lost!”
“Miriam Linton! how came she by it?” cried Mrs. Farnum, aghast.
“She says her uncle was in the railway carriage with you when you left
London that afternoon after I had met you at the —— Hotel, and you
dropped it in the coach.”
“Well, I am at least glad to know _how_ I lost it,” returned her friend,
in a relieved tone. “It has been a most annoying mystery to me all these
years. Does she know what there is in it?”
“I do not know,” Lady Linton said, growing pale. “I met her yesterday on
Oxford street, when she told me she had it, and would return it soon. If
she has not opened the package, I am all right; if she has, and ever
sees fit to betray me to Sir William, it will be a sad day for me.”
“You were very foolish ever to commit to paper anything concerning that
American escapade.”
“I suppose I was, but I always keep a diary; there are many things of
importance that I like to remember accurately, and a diary is so
convenient to refer to—it has saved me many mistakes.”
“It would have been far better if you had destroyed _that_ year’s notes,
as I advised you,” returned Mrs. Farnum.
“But it was full of important data, and I never dreamed that anything
could happen to it—it was very careless of you to lose it,” said her
ladyship, complainingly.
“I know it was, and I have suffered a great deal of anxiety on account
of it; for, of course, with all those names and dates, I am implicated
almost as much as yourself. Why don’t you go around to her lodgings and
get it at once?—your mind will be at rest then. If the seal has never
been broken, you are as safe as if it had never been lost.”
“True; I believe I will,” Lady Linton answered, brightening.
She followed the advice of her friend the very next day, and, calling at
Mrs. Alexander’s lodgings, was shown at once up to her private parlor.
There was no one there when she entered, but presently Virgie came in,
looking charming in her morning robe of mauve cashmere, with blue silk
facings, and greeted her ladyship politely, although with some reserve.
“You wished to see mamma,” she said, “but I am obliged to receive you as
she is not in just now. Can I do anything for you, Lady Linton?”
“I wished to see Mrs. Alexander personally,” returned Lady Linton,
haughtily. “Will she return soon?”
“I am afraid not. She had an engagement with Madame Gerbier, her
modiste, at eleven, and one with her lawyer at one,” Virgie explained.
Lady Linton thought a moment, then she said:
“Mrs. Alexander told me, a day or two ago, that she had a package
belonging to me; do you know anything about it?”
“A package?” repeated Virgie, looking mystified; then she added,
quickly, “Oh! perhaps it is that sealed package that mamma’s uncle found
so long ago. Is that yours, Lady Linton?”
“Yes. Sealed!—did you say it is _sealed_?” asked the woman,
breathlessly.
“Yes, it is sealed with a strange device and motto.”
“And has it never been opened?” was the eager query.
“Of course not; it is just as mamma’s uncle found it,” Virgie responded,
with curling lips, and flushing indignantly at the implied suspicion of
the woman.
Lady Linton could have wept for joy. She was saved! her vile secrets
were still all her own; and if she could but get that coveted diary into
her possession once again, she had nothing to fear; she would burn it
without a moment’s hesitation.
“I am very sorry to miss Mrs. Alexander; but perhaps _you_ could get it
for me?” she said, insinuatingly.
“I do not think I should like to do that without mamma’s sanction,”
Virgie answered; “but I will tell her your errand, and no doubt she will
take measures to return the package to you at once.”
“Very well,” replied Lady Linton; “tell her to send it immediately to my
brother’s residence; the street and number are on my card, which you
have. I shall leave town to-morrow, and would like it before I go.”
Virgie promised to deliver the message, and her ladyship took her leave,
with a heart lighter than she had known for years, for the burden of a
great dread had been rolled from it.
But she did not receive the package before leaving for Heathdale, as she
had confidently expected.
She had arranged to go on the fifteenth, taking Lillian with her, and
although she waited until the last minute, hoping for the appearance of
her long-lost diary, she was obliged to depart without it.
She did not worry over it very much, however, for she told herself that
if it had been kept all these years with the seal unbroken, there was
not much danger of its being disturbed at this late day.
Just as she was about to enter the carriage there arrived a telegram
from her brother. It contained just two lines:
“Shall leave Englewood Wednesday noon; arrive at Heathdale on the 7:30
express. Meet us there if you like.”
“Rather a curt bidding to a wedding feast,” Lady Linton sarcastically
observed, showing it to her daughter; but she would have been more than
content had she not been bidden at all, for her brother’s marriage was,
to her, an unlooked-for triumph over her enemy, a release from a much
dreaded doom.