A low cottage in a sunny bay
Where the salt sea innocuously breaks,
And the sea-breeze as innocently breathes
On Devon's leafy shores.
WORDSWORTH.
"May I come in, Miss Willoughby? My brother is here, and has brought
good news from Poole."
"Come in, pray, Lady Mabel; and Mr. Cranmer too," said Ellen, raising
herself eagerly on her couch. "Tell me all about this good news. Mr.
Allonby will live?"
"He will live, and is doing finely," said Claud, shaking hands with the
invalid. "He has recognised his sister this morning, and spoken several
coherent sentences. Dr. Forbes is much elated, and I must say I am
greatly relieved; it would have been very tragic had he not recovered."
"I am deeply thankful," said Miss Ellen, with a sympathetic moisture in
her eyes. "How delighted his sister must be!"
"She is. I fancy, from what I can gather, that she and her sisters are
quite dependent on their brother; she told me they were orphans."
"Poor children!" said Lady Mabel, in her impulsive way. "It would have
been terrible had it ended fatally. I feel quite a weight lifted from my
mind. Miss Willoughby, I must express to you my hearty thanks for having
been so long troubled with me. I have sent Joseph into Stanton with a
telegram telling Edward to come and fetch me, as Claud does not seem
inclined to come back to London just yet awhile."
"I want to try to get a clue to this affair before I go," said Claud,
"for it has piqued my curiosity most amazingly. The fellow from Scotland
Yard has quite made up his mind that we shall get the whole truth from
Mr. Allonby's own lips; I'm inclined to think he must be right; but, of
course, one can't torment the poor fellow about it while he is so weak."
"How very reserved Englishmen are!" burst out Lady Mabel. "All of them
are alike! Claud tells me that this Miss Allonby knows absolutely
nothing of her brother's affairs, though, from what she said, they seem
to be on the most confidential terms. She had never heard that he had an
enemy. Claud, my dear boy, draw a moral from this sad story. Write the
names and addresses of your secret foes upon a slip of paper, seal it in
an envelope, and give it to me, not to be opened till you are discovered
mysteriously murdered in an unfrequented spot."
"A good idea, that, Mab," responded Claud, cheerfully, "and one that I
shall certainly act upon. How would it be if I were to add a few
memoranda to every name, hinting at the means of murder most likely to
be employed by each? So that if I were knocked down with a cudgel, you
might lay it to Smith; if prussic acid were employed, it would most
likely be Jones; while a pistol-shot could be confidently ascribed as
Robinson. Save the detectives a lot of trouble that way."
"Oh, how can you jest on such a subject!" said Miss Ellen,
reproachfully.
The brother and sister were abashed, and Claud at once apoligised in his
neat way.
"We're Irish, you know, we must laugh or die," he said. "Only an Irish
mind could have evolved the idea of a wake; they feast at their funerals
because the sources of their laughter and their tears lie so close
together, if they didn't do the one they must do the other. I am so
relieved this morning--such a load's off my mind. Faith! if I didn't
talk nonsense, I'd explode, as sure as a gun."
"Bottle up your nonsense a bit, my boy, for the ears of one who's more
used to it than Miss Willoughby," said Lady Mabel, patting him on the
head admonishingly. "It's been something quite out of his line," she
went on, explanatorily, "these last few days of anxiety and gravity. It
has told upon him, poor fellow, and he must let off some steam. I am
going to walk up to Poole with him, if you'll allow it, to call upon
Miss Allonby. May we take Elsa with us?"
Lady Mabel had shortened Elaine's name into Elsa, because she declared
her to be like the Elsa of the old German myth.
"She has just the expression," she said, "which I should imagine to have
been worn by Elsa of Brabant, before the appearance of the champion on
the scene. She has an unprotected appealing look, as if she were
imploring some one to take her part. If I could get her to London she
would not long appeal in vain."
Elsa worshipped Lady Mabel, as it was natural she should; and the idea
of a visit to London being held out to her had caused such excitement as
prevented her sleeping and almost bereft her of appetite. Every turn of
their visitor's head, every sweep of her tasteful draperies, every puff
of the faint delicate perfume she used, every tone of her deep vibrating
voice was as the wave of an enchanter's wand to the bewildered girl. She
looked now with aching misery on her own ill-cut, misfitting garments;
she pondered with sharp misgivings over her face in the glass, as she
remembered the thick artistic sweep of Lady Mabel's loose grey hair, as
it made dark soft shadows over those mysterious, never-silent eyes. A
passion of discontent, of longing, of unnamed desire was sweeping like a
summer storm over the girl's waking heart and mind. The feminine
impulses in her were all arousing. Slowly and imperfectly she was
learning that she was a woman.
With the strange reticence which she had imbibed from her bringing up,
she mentioned none of this. Lady Mabel had very little idea of the
seething waves of feeling which every look and smile of hers was
agitating afresh. She talked to the girl on various subjects, to be
surprised anew at every venture by the intense and childish ignorance
displayed; but on the subjects which were just then paramount in
Elaine--dress, personal appearance, love--of these she never touched,
and so never succeeded in striking a spark from the smouldering
intelligence. It was Miss Charlotte who most noted a difference in her
pupil.
In the old days, when the girl first came Edge, she had been the
possessor of a temper which was furious in its paroxysms. This temper
the combined aunts had set themselves soberly to subdue and to
eradicate. They had succeeded admirably as far as the subduing went; no
ebullition was ever seen; rebellion was as much a thing of the past as
the Star Chamber or the Inquisition; but as regards eradication they had
not succeeded at all.
In some dumb indescribable way, Miss Charlotte was now made by her pupil
to feel this daily. In her looks and words, but chiefly in her manner,
was an unspoken defiance. She still came when she was called, but she
came slowly; she still answered when spoken to, but her manner was
impertinent, if not her words. She was altered, and the fact of not
being able to define the change made Miss Charlotte irritable.
Poor lady! she sat stewing in the hot school-room, hearing Elaine read
French with praiseworthy patience and fortitude, little thinking how
entirely a work of supererogation such patience was, nor how much more
salutary it would have been for both if, instead of goading her own and
her niece's endurance to its last ebb over the priggish observations of
a lady named Madame Melville--who gave her impossible daughter bad
advice in worse French with a persistency which would certainly have
moved said daughter to suicide had she not been, as has been said,
impossible--if instead of this Miss Charlotte had taken Elsa to see the
world around her, the pleasant, wholesome world of rural England, with
its innocuous society, its innocent delights, its tennis-parties and
archery meetings, its picnics and pretty cool dresses, and light-hearted
expeditions. Above all, its youthfulness.
To be young with the young--that was what this poor Elsa needed. That
was what her aunts could not understand, and they could not see,
moreover, what consequences might spring from this well-intentioned
ignorance of theirs.
Says Mrs. Ewing, who perhaps best of all Englishwomen understood English
girlhood:
"Girls' heads are not like jam-pots, which, if you do not fill them,
will remain empty."
Every girl's head will be full of something. It is for her parents and
guardians--spite of Mr. Herbert Spencer--to decide what the filling
shall be.
Nothing of this recked Elaine's instructress, as she sat with frowning
brow and compressed mouth, listening while the intolerable Madame
Melville accosted her daughter thus:
"You are happy in your comparisons this morning, and express them pretty
well."
In dreary monotone and excruciatingly English accent the girl read on,
as the obsequious dancing master wished to know.
"Vous ne voulez point que je la fasse valser?"
"Non," replied his prophetic patroness, "je suis persuadee que cette
mode n'est pas faite pour durer!"
And this volume bore date 1851.
To waltz! The very word had a secret charm for Elaine. What was this
waltzing? she ignorantly wondered. Something pleasant it must have been,
as Madame Melville declined to allow poor Lucy to learn it, and her
meditations grew so interesting that she lost her place on the dreary
page, and was only recalled to the present by Miss Charlotte's irritable
tones:
"I am sure I cannot think what has come over you, Elaine! You seem quite
unable to fix your attention on anything."
Meanwhile, upstairs in Miss Ellen's room, Elaine was the subject of
conversation.
"May we take your Elsa with us on our walk to Poole? She will like to
see Miss Allonby?" Lady Mabel suggested, instigated thereto by a hint
from Claud that he should like to renew the acquaintance of the Sleeping
Beauty in the Wood.
"If you could wait half an hour--Charlotte does not like her hours
interfered with," said Miss Ellen, deprecatingly. "She will be free at
four o'clock."
"Does Miss Brabourne never take a holiday?" asked Claud, tracing
patterns with his stick on the carpet.
"Well--not exactly. She is not hard worked, I think," said Miss Ellen,
feeling bound to support the family theory of education, in spite of her
own decided mistrust of it. "It is very bad for a young girl to have
nothing to occupy her time with--my sister considers some regularity so
essential."
"I should have thought," Lady Mabel was unable to resist saying, "that a
young woman of nineteen could have arranged her time for herself, if she
had been properly taught the responsibilities of life."
The wavering pink flush stole over the invalid's kind face.
"I am afraid we middle-aged women forget the flight of years," she said,
with gentle apology. "To us, Elaine is still the child she was when she
came to us twelve years ago."
"It's most natural," said Claud. "Will Miss Brabourne always live with
you? I remember, when Colonel Brabourne died, hearing that the terms of
the will were confused, or that there was some mess about it. Was not
the estate thrown into Chancery? I hope it is not rude of me to ask?"
"Not at all," answered Ellen, "I should be really glad to talk over the
child's future with some one not so totally ignorant of the world as I
am. The whole story is a painful one to me, I own, but it has to be
faced," she added, with an effort, after a short pause; "it has to be
faced."
"Don't you say a word if you would rather not," said Lady Mabel,
earnestly. "But if you would really like my brother's opinion, he will
be most interested to hear what you have to say. He is a barrister, and
might be of some use to you."
The Honorable Claud grew rather red, and laughed at his sister.
"Don't let Mab mislead you, Miss Willoughby," he said. "I was called to
the Bar in the remote past, but I have never practised. Still, I learnt
some law once, and any scraps of legal knowledge I may have retained are
most entirely at your service."
"You are very kind, and I will most willingly tell you as well as I can
how matters stand," said Miss Ellen. "We had formerly another
sister--Alice--she was the youngest except Emily, and she was very
pretty."
"I can well believe it," said Lady Mabel, purely for the pleasure of
seeing Miss Willoughby's modest blush.
"In those days," she went on, "we went every year to London for the
months of May and June; my father was alive, you understand, and he
always took us. There we met Colonel Brabourne, and he fell in love with
our pretty Alice. My father saw no reason against the match, except that
he was twenty years older than she; but she did not seem to mind that,
and was desperately in love with him. When they had been engaged only a
few weeks, my father died very suddenly, and, as soon as the mourning
would allow, Colonel Brabourne insisted on being married. It was a very
quiet wedding, of course, and there were no settlements of any
kind--nothing that there should have been. Everything was very hurried;
his regiment was just ordered to India, he wished her to accompany him;
we knew nothing of business, and we had no relations at hand to do
things for us. They were just married as soon as the banns could be
called, and away they went to Bengal. My father left his fortune to be
divided equally among his daughters, and secured it to their
descendants, so that Elaine will have, in any case, more than L200 a
year of her own; but now comes the puzzling part of the story. The
climate of India proved fatal to my sister. She was never well after her
marriage; and, when Elaine was born, her husband got leave to bring his
wife and child to England, to see if it were possible to save her. It
was not. She flagged, and drooped, and pined, and gradually we got to
know that she was in a deep decline. It was just at this time, when her
husband and all of us were almost crazy with anxiety, that Alice's
godmother, a rich widow lady named Cheston, living in London, died. In
consequence of Alice being named after her, she left her all her
fortune--about fifty thousand pounds. This was left quite
unconditionally.
"We were all so anxious about our sister, I think we scarcely noticed
the bequest. She died about a fortnight afterwards, leaving a little
will, dated before she knew of this legacy, bestowing everything she
could upon her husband, with whom, poor darling, she was madly in love,
then and always. She was, of course, sure of his doing all he could for
little Elaine. My experience of the world is very limited," said Miss
Willoughby, wiping her eyes, "but I must say I think men are the most
incomprehensible beings in creation. You would have thought that
Valentine Brabourne was absolutely inconsolable for the loss of his
wife. He threw up his commission, and went to live in seclusion, taking
his baby daughter with him. We saw nothing of him."
"Did he live on his wife's money?" asked Claud.
"He lived on the income of it chiefly. He had very little of his own,
besides his pay. I did not see how we could interfere. His wife's will
left the money to him, by implication, and of course I thought it would
be Elaine's. But when she was three years old he married again--a
person who--who----" Miss Willoughby faltered for an expression. "Well,
a person of whom my sisters and I could not approve. She was a Miss
Orton, and lived with her brother, who was what they call a book-maker,
I believe. It did seem so strange that, after mourning such a wife as
Alice, he should suddenly write from the midst of his retirement to
announce himself married to such a person. We did not wish to be selfish
or unpleasant--we invited him and his wife down here, but we really
could not repeat the experiment."
Tears of pleading were in the poor lady's eyes.
"I hope you will not think me narrow," she said, "I know we lead too
isolated a life; but I could not like Mrs. Brabourne. She smoked
cigarettes, and drank brandy and soda water. She was always reading a
pink newspaper called the _Sporting Times_, and I think she betted on
every horse-race that is run," said poor Miss Willoughby, vaguely. "She
talked about Sandown and Chantilly, and other places I had never heard
of. She never went to church, and appeared, from her conversation, to do
more visiting and gambling on the Sunday than on any other day. She was
a handsome young woman, with her gowns cut like a gentleman's coat. She
drove very well, and used to wear a hard felt hat and dogskin gloves. I
cannot say I liked her. My sisters could none of them approve. She was
unwomanly, I cannot but think it, and I am sure she influenced her
husband for evil. Soon after her stay here, she had a baby, but it died
within twenty-four hours of its birth; so the next year, and the next. I
am sure she took no proper care of herself, but when she had been four
years married, she had a son, who did live, and was called Godfrey. Six
months after his birth, his father was thrown in the hunting-field and
killed. He left a will bequeathing the whole of his property--this fifty
thousand which had been poor Alice's,--to his son Godfrey. Mrs.
Brabourne was to have three hundred a year till her death, and a certain
sum was set aside for the maintenance and education of both children
till they were of age. And all this of Alice's money--our Alice! Do you
call that a just will, Mr. Cranmer?"
"I call it simple theft," said Claud, shortly; "but, if the will your
sister left be legally valid, I don't see what you are to do in the
matter."
"So our solicitor said," sighed Miss Willoughby. "He thought we had no
grounds at all for litigation; but I think that everyone must confess
that it is a hard case. I wish it had been possible to throw it into
Chancery, but it was not."
"I can just remember there being some talk about it," said Lady Mabel.
"I call it a very hard case."
"If it had been half!" said Miss Willoughby. "I would not have grudged
the boy half my sister's fortune; but that he should leave it all to
him!"
The clock struck four as she spoke, and the sound of a closing door was
heard.
"Here comes Elaine," she said. "Please mention nothing of all this to
her. She does not know."
"Does she not? Why not tell her?" asked Lady Mabel.
"I thought it might set her against her brother," answered Miss Ellen,
"or make her disrespect the memory of her father. But I cannot feel as I
should towards the Ortons I must confess. There was something very
underhand; something must have been done, some undue influence exerted
to induce him to leave such a will, for I know he loved Alice as he
never loved his second wife."
"Is she alive still, the second Mrs. Brabourne?" asked Claud.
"No; she died two years ago. The boy is more than twelve years old. The
money will be worth having by the time he attains his majority; when
Elaine is twenty-one, I shall make another effort on her behalf."
"I am sure I wish you success, but I am afraid you have no case," said
Claud, regretfully.
As he spoke the door was opened, and Elaine walked in.