While Aunt Penelope talked my heart beat very hard. From time to time I
could not help glancing at Vernon. Was he guessing my thoughts--was he
understanding?
He stood with his back to us, looking out of the window. Once or twice
he whistled a little, he whistled a bar of a popular melody; then he
thrust his hands into his pockets, turned swiftly round, took up a
newspaper, flung himself into a chair, and pretended to read. I might
have felt vexed with him, I might even have accused him of want of
sympathy, if I had not suddenly noticed that he was holding the paper
upside down--he was not reading at all. He was in reality as excited and
troubled as I was myself. My heart warmed to him with a great glow when
I observed this. I felt what good, what splendid friends we would be in
the future, how like nobody else in all the world he was, and what a
lucky, very lucky, girl I was to have won him. But no--even at the risk
of losing my own happiness I would not leave my father to the mercies
of Lady Helen. Unless that matter could be put right, I would not marry
my darling Vernon. The thought brought a great soreness into my heart,
and I felt the tears pricking my eyes from behind, and I was glad when
our time of suspense was over, for the same flunkey who had opened the
door for us now appeared, standing on the threshold of the little room
where we had taken refuge, and said:
"Lady Helen's compliments, and she will be pleased to give you an
audience, Miss Dalrymple."
"I am coming, too. Does her ladyship know?" inquired Aunt Penelope.
"She said Miss Dalrymple," replied the man.
"Nonsense!" said Aunt Penelope. "We'll all come, my good man. Will you
have the kindness to show the way? Now march, please; although you're
wearing such a smart livery, you're not nearly such a good servant as my
boy Jonas."
The man's name was Robert, and he was one of the most superior servants
of the house, and I really felt annoyed with Aunt Penelope for attacking
him in this fashion. He got very red, but then his eyes met mine, and
something in my eyes must have begged of him to be patient, for he
certainly was patient, and then, without another word, he went before
us, and we three followed, and a minute or two later we were in Lady
Helen's presence.
I was at once relieved and surprised to find that my father was not
there. It happened to be a very hot day; it was now July, and London was
suffering from a spell of intensely hot weather. Lady Helen's
sitting-room looked very cool and inviting. There were soft, bluey-green
blinds draped across the windows--the effect was a sort of bluey-grey
mist, at once refreshing and becoming. There were quantities of flowers
in the room, so much so that Aunt Penelope began to sniff at once. She
sniffed audibly, and said in a loud aside to Vernon:
"No wonder the poor woman looks ill; such a strong smell of flowers is
bad for anyone."
Lady Helen herself was in a most wonderful make-up that morning. She had
a very elegant figure, notwithstanding her years. She was dressed in the
extreme height of the prevailing mode, and looked--that is, until the
full light of day shone upon her--like a woman who was between forty and
fifty, at most. She must have been wearing a completely new arrangement
on her head; I cannot call it her own hair, for I happened to know that
it was only hers in the sense that she had honestly paid for it. It was
of a pale golden shade; when last I saw her she was wearing chestnut
curls. This _coiffure_ was arranged in the most becoming manner on the
top of her head, and fell in soft little ringlets round her ears and
about her neck. Her dress was of the "coat and skirt" style, cut in
tailor fashion, and extremely smart. On the back of her golden head she
wore an enormous black crinoline hat, trimmed with great ostrich tips;
altogether her appearance was too wonderful for Aunt Penelope to bear
long with patience. She was standing up as we entered the room, and now
she came quickly towards us.
"How do you do, Heather?" she said to me. "I am quite willing to see you
again, but this lady and this gentleman!"
"You know me very well, Lady Helen," said Vernon. "I am that Captain
Carbury who stood by your brother's death-bed--who hold his written
confession, and who is about to marry Heather Grayson."
"All nonsense, all nonsense!" said Lady Helen.
"But I thought----" I began.
Lady Helen looked at Aunt Penelope.
"It does not matter what you think, Heather; you are only a child. May I
be informed who this lady is--the lady who has dared to come into my
presence uninvited?"
"My name, madam, is Miss Despard, and I am real own aunt to Heather
Grayson. Heather Grayson's mother, the first wife of Major Grayson,
happened to be my sister. I presume therefore, madam, that I have a
right over this young girl, more particularly as she lived with me, and
I trained her, and educated her from the time she was eight years old
until she was eighteen."
"Ah, yes," said Lady Helen in a soft voice; "that dreadful time, those
ten terrible years!"
"We all know the story of those years; you are, of course, aware of
that," said Captain Carbury at that moment.
Lady Helen gave him a quick glance.
"Yes," she said suddenly. "You observe my dress. I am in mourning for my
dear one."
Her voice trembled for a minute. I looked at her and saw that she was
really sorry for the man who was dead.
"He is in his grave," she continued, "poor, dear Gideon! We did what we
could for him, your father and I. Now our one desire is to let his poor
bones rest in peace."
"Perhaps it is, madam," said Vernon just then, "but there are other
people who have a say in the matter. Now, Heather, it is time for you to
speak."
I looked at Lady Helen and took my courage in my hands.
"Stepmother----"
"Oh! You acknowledge that I am your stepmother? Well, what have you to
say for yourself? You have been a nice stepdaughter to me!"
"I could not help it," I said. "I never intended to be nasty to you."
"Well, I don't wish to complain. But who gave you all the good things
you enjoyed, your dress, your home, your fun, your pleasure, your good
time all round? Answer me that question--who gave you those things?"
"You did."
"Ah! I'm glad you acknowledge it."
"Of course I acknowledge it."
"And do you think you have behaved well to me in return? Because I did
the very best possible for you and because a needy, poor man, almost a
pauper, for he has practically no private means, came and demanded your
hand, and your father and I considered it an improper and unsuitable
request, you took the bit between your teeth, and, without a word,
without a hint, ran away. Never shall I forget our return from Brighton
and the agony that your poor father, whom you profess to love, was in.
You ran away. Why did you run away?"
"Because I couldn't do what you wanted."
"And you did even worse," continued Lady Helen, "for I have discovered
everything. You had the audacity, the impropriety--you, a young girl--to
go to Lord Hawtrey's, and to try to interview him. Oh, yes; I have heard
that story, and I know what it means; and a nice meaning it has for you,
miss--a very nice meaning, indeed!"
"You broke my heart and went away to the country and took father with
you," I said. "I could think of no one else. I went to him because I
knew he was a gentleman, and would act as such."
"Suppose we come to the matter in hand," interrupted Vernon, who was
getting impatient at all this dallying.
"Yes, that's right, Vernon; that's right. Keep her to the point,"
exclaimed Aunt Penelope.
I looked back at them both. Aunt Penelope's bright eyes were like little
pin points in her head; they were fixed on Lady Helen's got-up face. She
had really never before, in the whole course of her life, met such a
woman. She was studying her from every point of view.
"I have come here, stepmother," I said, "to tell you that I--I--know all
the story with regard to my--my darling father. Vernon has told me, and
Vernon and I have made up our minds to marry, and father has given his
consent, and we mean to be married, if all comes right, in about----"
"Best say a week, Heather," interrupted Vernon.
"In about a fortnight from now," I continued.
"Well, if you must put it off so long," he remarked, leaning back in his
chair.
"But the question I have come here to-day to ask is this," I continued.
"What is to become of my father?"
"The more proper thing for you to say, Heather Dalrymple, is this: What
is to become of the man who has had the good fortune to marry Lady Helen
Dalrymple?"
"But I don't think it a good fortune at all," I said. "Oh, Lady Helen,
I must speak the truth; I can't beat about the bush any longer. My dear,
my darling father is not a bit happy, not a bit! He did what he did--oh!
it was so noble of him!--to--save your brother--I know the whole story.
Oh, he was a hero! But must all his life be sacrificed because he is a
hero? Your brother is in his grave; give my own dad back his freedom;
let him come and live with Vernon and me!"
"Upon my word, I never heard of such a request in all my life!"
"But you will do it," I said. "There need be no scandal; you can go
abroad or anywhere you like, and I am sure father will visit you
sometimes, and no one need think anything about that, and--and you know
you're not really fond of father, because if you were you would not make
him so terribly unhappy. Oh, do let him come and live with us!"
"You take my breath away! You are the most audacious, dreadful girl I
ever came across. What do you take me for?"
"Lady Helen, I know you have a heart somewhere."
She looked at me. The rims round her eyes were blackened, her eyebrows
were artificially darkened, her face was powdered--could I get at any
soul behind that much bedecked exterior? Bedecked, do I call it?
Disfigured is the word I ought to use.
"Lady Helen," I said suddenly, "give my father his happiness! Don't, oh,
don't be cruel to him any longer, I beg of you, I beseech of you!"
"Child, don't make a fool of yourself." Lady Helen rose.
"Listen, you good people," she said. "This little Heather Dalrymple, my
stepdaughter, would never have thought of such an absurd and ridiculous
scheme but for you; you, Miss Despard, and you, Captain Carbury, thought
this thing out. You wanted to drag me before the world as a woman
separated from her husband; you thought to disgrace me before the eyes
of the world, and you imagined that I would obey the whim of a child. I
know better. Heather, I distinctly and once for all refuse your
request."
"Then, madam, it is my turn to say something," cried Vernon.
"You must say it pretty quickly, sir, for my motor-car will be round in
a few minutes."
"I fear your car must wait. You have an important matter to listen to.
It is this. You love your brother, and we all, even the most hardened of
us, have a feeling of respect towards the dead. But I can at least
assure you that there is such a thing as even greater respect for the
living who have been wronged, and the entire story of Major Grayson's
conduct shall be published before the world unless you agree to what
this young lady proposes. He will come out very much a hero, I fancy;
but your conduct in the matter will not be quite so gratifying to you
and your friends."
"I echo every single word that Captain Carbury says!" exclaimed Aunt
Penelope. "I am very outspoken, and from first to last I have always
detested everything I have heard about you, Lady Helen; and now that I
see you I hate you more than ever. It would give me sincere pleasure to
drag your crime into the light. What right had you to work on the
feelings of the most tender-hearted of men in order to save your brother
from the shame and the punishment his sin deserved? My poor noble
brother-in-law volunteered to take your wicked brother's place. Why,
Lady Helen, it was a Christ-like deed! The least he can get for the rest
of his days, poor fellow, is peace and happiness. Oh, yes, you can
refuse, but the moment you do so the whole of this affair shall be
placed in the hands of my solicitors, for I am determined that my
brother-in-law and my niece's father shall no longer be considered
unworthy to be a true soldier of our late Queen."
"You can leave me," said Lady Helen. "Go at once, all three of you;
don't attempt to stay another moment in my presence. You drive me mad!
Go--go--go! Oh, I shall have hysterics! I--Heather, ring the bell; my
maid must come to me; I feel the attack coming on. Oh, you awful people!
Heather, you can stay if you like; you don't mean to be cruel, I know
you don't. I who have suffered so sorely--I who am broken-hearted! But
leave me, you two others; leave me at once--at once!"
"Not until my niece goes with me do I stir one step out of this room,"
said Aunt Penelope.
"Well, Heather child, if you must go you must. Oh, try to turn their
wicked, cruel hearts! but I--yes I----"
"What do you mean to do?" said Vernon. "You haven't told us that yet."
"Nothing, I tell you--nothing. You can't be so cruel--so monstrous!"
"Miss Despard's address is 90A, Torrington Square, W.C.," said Vernon,
in his calmest voice; "that address will find her and Heather and me any
time between now and noon to-morrow. If at noon to-morrow we have not
heard from you, we shall be forced to draw our own conclusions--namely,
that you have refused to consider Heather's most natural petition, that
she should be allowed to make her father happy. It will then be our duty
to put the matter absolutely into the hands of Messrs. Fenchurch and
Grace, Miss Despard's solicitors."
Lady Helen sank back again in her chair, her eyes shone with feverish
hate.
"Leave me, you terrible people!" she said. "Go, all of you!"
We went.