Certainly Vernon's story was the most amazing that any girl had ever
listened to. Notwithstanding my great joy I could not take it all in at
once. The first time of telling seemed to have little or no effect on
me, except that it lightened my heart in a most curious manner of a load
which was almost insupportable. I sprang suddenly to my feet.
"Will you come out with me?" I said. "Shall we go up on the Downs, and
will you tell me there the whole story from beginning to end over
again?"
He smiled and said, in his bright way:
"All right, little Heather."
I flew upstairs. Aunt Penelope was moving about in her room, but I would
not go to her. I felt somehow that I could not meet her just yet, and
she, dear old thing, must have guessed my feelings, for she did not
attempt to trouble me. I put on my hat and jacket, snatched up my
gloves, and ran downstairs. Vernon was waiting for me. How tall he was,
and broad, and how splendidly he carried himself!
"Oh, Vernon," I said, looking into his face, "I am so proud that you are
a soldier!"
He laughed.
"Thank you very much indeed, little Heather," he said.
When we got out he drew my hand through his arm, and we went up to the
beautiful Downs. We sat on the heather and he told me the story over
again; I took it in much better this time. When it was quite finished I
said:
[Illustration: "We sat on the heather and he told me the story over
again."]
"And father--what is to become of father?"
"I'm afraid he'll have to go on living with Lady Helen," was Vernon's
answer. But I shook my head.
"No," I said; "not at all. I have a better scheme than that. Lady Helen
is very much frightened, isn't she, Vernon?"
"A 'blue funk' doesn't even describe her," replied Vernon.
"Well, then," I said, "I have a plan in my head. You and I will go up to
London to-morrow." "I am quite agreeable, Heather--that is, if it causes
you to hurry on our wedding day."
"Oh, there's time enough for our wedding day," I said. "We mustn't be
selfish, you know, Vernon."
"Selfish? By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Little you know about selfishness
when you accuse me of it."
"Oh, Vernon," I said, "I'm just so happy I scarcely know what to do. But
because I am so happy I don't want the one I love best in all the world
after yourself to be out in the cold."
"What do you mean by that, Heather dear?"
"Just what I say. I don't want to leave my own darling father absolutely
miserable."
"Jove! you're right there. But what can you do? You can't part a man
from his lawful wife."
"No more I can--that's quite true; but I do want to see him and--I must
see Lady Helen, too. Vernon, you'll help me, won't you?"
"By all means," he answered. "But now, let us talk of ourselves. How
soon do you think we can be married--in a fortnight? Surely a fortnight
would be long enough for any reasonable girl."
"I am by no means certain of that," I replied. "I will marry you,
Vernon, as soon as ever I can put other matters right."
"Oh, but I have a voice in this, for I mean to marry you without a
moment's delay--that is, I mean that I will give you one fortnight and
not an hour beyond. It is the fashion now to be married by banns. Well,
we'll have our banns cried on Sunday next and on the following Sunday
and the Sunday after, and we can be married on the Monday after that.
That's about right, isn't it? That's as it ought to be."
"Vernon, you are so--so impulsive."
"Well, little girl, I'm made like that. When I want a thing I generally
contrive to get it, and that as soon as possible. Jove! I did have work
in getting you. If I hadn't thought and thought, and very nearly driven
myself distracted, do you imagine for a single moment I'd have ferreted
out that secret of Gideon Dalrymple's? So much thinking is exceedingly
bad for a fellow, Heather, and the sooner you can set his heart at rest,
the better for his general health."
"All right," I replied. "I will marry you in a fortnight if father is
happy and if Aunt Penelope is satisfied."
"You needn't doubt her," said Vernon. "I put the question to her before
you entered the drawing-room. When you were upstairs, putting on that
pretty frock and tidying your hair, I had the brunt of the business
settled with her. She likes sharp work; she told me so. When you
appeared on the scene I was quite like an old family man pouring out the
tea for her, and all the rest."
"There never was anyone like you," I said, and I took his hand timidly
in mine.
"Come--this is all nonsense! Kiss me, Heather."
"No, no, Vernon--I--I can't."
"Don't be a dear little goose. I must be paid for what I've done. Kiss
me this instant."
"It's your place----" I began.
"All right, if that's how you put it."
He clasped his arms round me and drew me close to him and kissed me over
and over and over again.
"There now," he said; "it's your turn."
"But you have kissed me."
"Of course, I have. I want _you_ to kiss _me_. Now begin. Come, Heather,
don't be shy."
I did kiss him, and after I had kissed him once I kissed him again, and
my dark eyes looked into his blue ones, and I seemed to see the
steadfast, bright, honourable soul that dwelt within his breast, and I
knew that I was the happiest of girls.
We went slowly back from the Downs into the more shady part of the
little town. We stopped at Aunt Penelope's house. A great deal had been
happening in our absence. Buttons was flying about like a creature
demented, the parrot was calling in a voice loud enough to deafen you:
"Stop knocking at the door!" and Aunt Penelope was in her very best cap
and in her softest and most stately black silk dress. She wore black
silk dresses of the sort which are never seen now. It was thick; it
would almost stand by itself; it had a ribby sort of texture, and in
order to enrich the silk it was heavily trimmed with bands of black
velvet and with a fringe of what they called black bugles. The effect
was at once dull and extremely handsome. It suited Aunt Penelope to a
nicety--that and her little cap with the real point lace and the soft
mauve ribbons.
When I appeared she just nodded to me and said something to Vernon, and
he said: "Yes, certainly." I ran upstairs. Presently I heard a tap at my
door. I went to open it; Aunt Penelope stood outside.
"May I come in, Heather?"
"Of course, darling auntie."
I took her hand; I drew her into the room.
"Heather, I know--it's too wonderful. What a splendid fellow! Heather, I
am glad."
"Oh, auntie, my heart is bursting with happiness!"
"Heather, child, I'm a woman of few words, but if your mother were alive
she'd be proud of this day. He has the very soul of honesty in his face;
he is better looking than your poor dear father ever was, but he has the
same sort of nature, so boyish, so impulsive, so brave. He's a
dear--that's all that I can say about him."
"And if you weren't a dear for your own sake, you'd be one for calling
him one," was my somewhat incoherent answer.
"Well, now, that's enough sentiment, child; we must to business. How do
you like my dress?"
"It's magnificent--and you have put it on in honour of me."
"In honour of a captain in His Majesty's army. Child, I do so greatly
respect army men."
"Oh, yes, I see. Thank you, so do I. Indeed, it's a very handsome
dress," I continued.
"I think so," she replied. "It was made fifteen years ago, at least. I
only wear it on the very best occasions, otherwise it would have got
greasy ages and ages before now. It's amazing how difficult it is to
keep these really good silks from turning greasy; the grease seems to
cling to them in some sort of fashion, and you can never get it out, try
as you will."
"It looks awfully nice--it really does, auntie."
"I am proud to be wearing it for your sake and for his to-night."
"And you have asked him to dinner?"
"Yes. I have come to speak of that. It is a real dinner; Jonas and I
have concocted it between us. You are to know nothing about it; you are
just to eat it when it comes on the table, and to be right-down
thankful. Now that you are happy you must eat well, for nothing in some
ways takes it out of one more than happiness. You have been looking
sadly worn out, child, and now you have got to eat and drink and get
your pretty, youthful roses back again. Oh, Heather, Vernon agrees with
me about the world; he hates fashionable people. He told me, dear boy,
that for a short time he was engaged to one of them. I never met anybody
so confiding."
"I know all about his engagement," I said. "I saw her once, too; she was
very handsome."
"Ah, yes; I have no doubt--a society doll. Well, he hasn't chosen badly,
when he's elected that your little face and your brown eyes and your
warm heart shall accompany him through life. You'd best smarten yourself
up a bit for dinner, Heather; I don't want your old aunt to take the
shine out of you, my love--and, remember, this dress is uncommonly
handsome."
"Yes, auntie, I know. I shouldn't be surprised if you did take the shine
out of me; but I don't think I shall greatly mind."
So I put on a pretty white dress, for a few of my dresses had been sent
from London, doubtless by my dear father's orders, and ran downstairs.
Bless that boy Buttons--he had effected marvels! The tiny dining room
was gay with flowers, the very best old dinner service had been got out
for the occasion, the best silver had been polished up, and I, who was
accustomed to doing pretty nearly half the work of the house, wasn't
allowed to put my hand to anything. I really felt annoyed. I did not
like to be at Hill View without attending to its household economy.
Vernon came in from his rooms at the little hotel, looking spick and
span, as he always did. We three sat down to dinner, and certainly that
dinner was a triumph. I have often puzzled myself to wonder how Aunt
Penelope contrived to manage it. First of all there was soup, the best
soup I had ever tasted, and then there was fish, trout which had been
alive a couple of hours before, and then there was pigeon pie and peas
and potatoes, and afterwards strawberries and cream. There was also a
bottle of very old port wine, which Aunt Penelope fingered with a
trembling hand.
"I have had it in the house since long before your mother was married,"
she said to me. "Vernon, my boy, you will find it worthy of even your
refined tastes."
Vernon immediately begged to be allowed to draw the cork; he said that
such precious old wine as that required most tender handling. Aunt
Penelope and I had a little glass each, and Vernon had one or two, and
afterwards he told Aunt Penelope something of our plans and how he and I
were going to London on the morrow to see my father and Lady Helen.
Aunt Penelope nodded her head several times.
"I have only one improvement to make on that plan," she said.
"Oh, but what improvement can you make, auntie?" was my reply.
"I can and I will," she said, with emphasis. "I am quite well now, as
well as ever. Now what I mean to do is this; I mean to go with you two
good young people. I will never be in your way, never for a moment, but
I will guard you from the malicious tongue of Mrs. Grundy. She's a nasty
old body, and I don't want her to get at you. There's a quiet little
hotel in Bloomsbury where Heather and I can have rooms, and where we can
stay, and I make not the slightest doubt that I can help Heather very
considerably in her dealings with Lady Helen Dalrymple."
"Oh, you can, you can," I said; "it will be quite splendid!"
So the plan was carried out. Jonas was informed that very evening that
Miss Penelope and I were going to leave Hill View early on the morrow.
"We shall probably be back in a few days," said Aunt Penelope. "In the
meantime, Jonas, you must attend to the house cleaning; give it a
thorough turn-out. Wash every scrap of paint, Jonas; be sure you wash
the backs of the shutters, don't leave a single place with a scrap of
dirt in it; remember, I'll find it out if it exists--be certain of
that."
"Yes, mum; thank you, mum," said Jonas. "I'll be sure to do what you
wish, mum."
"And Jonas, you understand the garden. You can get the grass into order
and remove all the weeds. We may be having a smart time down here by and
by, there's no saying, there's no saying at all, but at least remember
that you haven't a minute to lose. You are a good boy, Jonas, and you'll
work as hard when I am away as though I were at home."
"Yes, mum; of course, mum," said Jonas. "Me and the parrot," he added.
"Stop knocking at the door!" shouted the parrot.
"There! if that bird isn't enough to split one's head," said Aunt
Penelope.
She went upstairs. Vernon had already gone back to the hotel. Buttons
gave me a feeling glance.
"Stay below for a minute, missy. Is it true? Is there nuptials in this
'ere thing?"
"Yes, Jonas."
"I thought as much. Didn't I twig it when I heard his steps and saw the
starty sort of way you got into? I'm a smart boy, I am. Missy, you'll
have me at the wedding, won't you?"
"I promise you, Jonas, you shall certainly come," I answered rashly.
The next day we went up to London. We had no special adventure on our
journey to town. We went first-class. I remembered my journey down, and
how interesting I had thought the third-class passengers, but now we
travelled back in state. Vernon said it would be less tiring for Aunt
Penelope. When we got to Paddington we drove to the little hotel that
Aunt Penelope knew about; it was a quiet little place at one corner of a
small square in Bloomsbury. It was very old-fashioned and not much
frequented of late. The proprietor, however, knew Aunt Penelope quite
well. Had he not entertained her and my mother also in the long-ago days
when they were young? Aunt Penelope was anxious to secure the same
rooms, and, strange as it may seem, she managed to get them. The
landlord was very pleased indeed to show them to her, and she told me
afterwards that the sight of them brought a prickly sensation into the
back of her eyes, and made her feel inclined to cry. The rooms were
quiet and clean, and that was the main thing. Vernon did not think much
of them, but they pleased Aunt Penelope, and that, of course, was the
most important matter of all.
Having arranged about the rooms, Vernon now suggested that we should
engage a taxi-cab and drive straight to Hanbury Square, but here Aunt
Penelope put down her foot.
"What sort of cab did you say, my dear boy?"
"A taxi-cab, auntie." He called her "auntie" from the very moment we
were properly engaged.
"I don't like new sorts of cabs," replied my aunt. "I want what in my
young days used to be called a 'growler.' I hate hansoms; I wouldn't
dare go in one of them."
In vain poor Vernon pleaded for the light and swift motion of the cab
which was driven by petrol. The old lady held up her hands with horror.
"Not for worlds would I go in a motor-cab," she said. "Vernon, I have
admired you and stood up for you, but I shall do so no longer if you
even mention such a thing to me again."
So in the end we three had to drive to my stepmother's in a four-wheeled
cab. Aunt Penelope said that it was quite a handsome conveyance, and not
the least like the "growlers" she used to remember in the days when she
and her sister were young. We got to the great and beautiful house about
noon. We walked up the steps and Vernon rang the bell.
"Perhaps they'll be out," I could not help whispering in his ear.
"No, I think not," he replied. "I sent a telegram this morning which I
imagine will keep them at home. Now, you'll keep up your courage, won't
you, darling?"
"You needn't be afraid," I replied.
He gave my hand a squeeze, and the door was flung open. The automaton
who opened it could not help becoming flesh and blood when he saw my
face. A queer flicker went over his countenance; he coloured, faintly
smiled, then, remembering himself, became a wooden man once again.
"Is Lady Helen in?" I ventured to say.
"Yes, Miss Dalrymple. I'll inquire of her ladyship if she can see you,
and----" he glanced at Vernon, he looked with downright suspicion at
Aunt Penelope.
"It is all right," I said. "We can go into the little sitting-room at
the left of the hall. Will you please say that I have called, and that
Miss Despard and Captain Carbury are with me? Say that we wish to see
her ladyship."
"And as soon as possible," snapped Aunt Penelope. "Have the goodness
further to inform Lady Helen that we are in a considerable hurry, and
would be glad if she would make it convenient not to keep us waiting
long."
"Certainly, madam," replied the man. He disappeared, and we waited in
the little room towards the left of the hall.
"Aunt Penelope, you _are_ brave," I could not help saying.
"I come of a brave stock," said the old lady. "Did not my father die
when little more than a boy in the battle of Inkerman, and my
grandfather at Waterloo? Yes, I had need to be brave."