Mrs. Costello said nothing to Lucia on their way home about Bailey. She
sat in her corner of the carriage, leaning back and thinking
despairingly what to do. Her spirits had so far given way with her
failing health that she no longer felt the courage necessary to face
annoyance. And it was plainly to be feared that in case this man
discovered her, he would have no scruples, being so needy and degraded,
about using every means in his power to extort money from her.
Undoubtedly he had such means--he had but to tell her story, as he
_could_ tell it, and not only her own life, but Lucia's, would be made
wretched; the separation from Maurice, which she was beginning to hope
might be only temporary, would become irrevocable--and, what seemed to
her still more terrible, there would be perpetual demands from her
enemy, and the misery of perpetual contact with him. To buy off such a
man, at once and finally, was, she knew, utterly beyond her power--what
then could she do?
When they were at home, and the door of their sitting-room safely
closed, she turned anxiously to Lucia,
"Bailey is here," she said.
"Bailey?" Lucia repeated--she had forgotten the name.
"The man who was present at my marriage--the American."
"Mamma! How do you know?"
"Father Paul told me just now."
"How did he know?"
"The wretched man had gone to him begging, and he mentioned him to me by
chance, thinking I might know something about him."
"But surely he would not remember you?"
"I think he would. If by any accident he met you and me together, I am
certain he would."
"Ah! I am so like my father."
"Lucia, I _dare_ not meet him. I believe the very sight of him would
kill me."
"Let us go away, mamma. He knows nothing about us yet. We might start
to-morrow."
"Where should we go? Even at our own door we might meet him, at the
railway station--anywhere. No, it is only inside these walls we are
safe, and scarcely here."
Mrs. Costello was literally trembling, the panic which had seized her
was so great; Lucia, not fully understanding yet, could not help being
infected by her terror.
"But, mamma, we cannot shut ourselves up in these rooms. That, with the
constant fear added to it, would soon make you ill again."
"What can we do?" Mrs. Costello repeated helplessly. "If, indeed, we
could start to-night, and go south, or go out of France altogether. But
I have not even money in the house for our journey."
"And if you had, you have not strength for it. Would not it be well to
consult Mr. Wynter? If we had any friend here who would make the
arrangement for us, I don't see why we should not be able to go away
without any fear of meeting this man."
"No; that would not do. To consult George would just be opening up again
all that was most painful--it would be almost as bad as meeting Bailey
himself."
"And we could not be stopped even if we did meet Bailey. Let me go
alone, mamma, and do what is to be done--it is not much. If I meet him I
shall not know it, and seeing me alone, the likeness cannot be so strong
as to make him recognize me all at once."
"But he might see us together when we start from here; and he might
trace us. He would know at once that he could get money from me, and for
money he would do anything."
She leaned back, and was silent a minute.
"We must keep closely shut up for a little while, till I can decide what
to do. I wish Maurice would come."
Lucia looked up eagerly. It was her own thought, though she had not
dared to say it. Maurice could always find the way out of a difficulty.
"Mamma," she said anxiously, but with some hesitation, "I think this is
need--the kind of need Maurice meant."
"Need, truly. But I do not know--"
"He would be glad to help you. And he knows all about us."
"Yes, I should not have to make long explanations to him."
Just then there was a knock at the door. Both started violently. Absurd
as it was, they both expected to see Bailey himself enter. Instead, they
saw Madame Everaert, her round face flushed with walking and her hands
full of flowers.
"For mademoiselle," she said, laying them down on the table, and nodding
and smiling good humouredly. "I have been to Rosendahl to see my
goddaughter there, and she has a magnificent garden, so I brought a few
flowers for mademoiselle."
Lucia thanked her, and admired the flowers, and she went away without
suspecting the fright her visit had caused.
"Get your desk, Lucia," Mrs. Costello said, gasping for breath, and
almost exhausted by the terrible beating of her heart, "and write a note
for me."
The desk was brought and opened.
"Is it to Maurice?" Lucia asked.
"Yes. Say that we are in great need of a friend."
Lucia began. She found it much more difficult than she had done the
other night, when she wrote those few impetuous lines which had been
afterwards torn up.
"Dear Maurice," she said, "mamma tells me to write to you, and say
that something has happened which has frightened her very much, and
that we are in great need of a friend. Will you keep your promise,
and come to us?"
This was what she showed to her mother. When Mrs. Costello had approved
of it, she wrote a few words more.
"I want to ask you to forgive me. I don't deserve it, but I am so
unhappy.
"Yours affectionately,
"LUCIA."
She hesitated a little how to sign herself, but finally wrote just what
she had been accustomed to put to all her little notes written to
Maurice during his absences from Cacouna in the old days.
When the letter had been sealed and sent off by Madame Everaert's
servant to the post-office, they began to feel that all they could do
for the present was done. Mrs. Costello lay still on her sofa, without
having strength or energy to talk, and Lucia took her never-finished
crochet, and sat in her old place by the window.
But very soon it grew too dark to work. The Place was lighted, and alive
with people passing to and fro. The windows of the guard house opposite
were brilliant, and from those of a café on the same side as Madame
Everaert's there shone out, half across the square, a broad line of
light. In this way, at two places, the figures of those who moved about
the pavement on each side of the Place, were very plainly visible; even
the faces of some could be distinguished. Lucia watched these people
to-night with a new interest. Every time the strong glare fell upon a
shabby slouching figure, or on a poorly dressed man who wanted the air
of being a Frenchman, she thought, "Is that Bailey?" When the lamp came
in, Mrs. Costello had fallen asleep, so Lucia turned it down low, and
still sat at the window. The light on the tower shone out clear and
bright--above it the stars looked pale, but the sky was perfectly
serene. Maurice, if he came soon, had every prospect of a fair passage.
"And he will come," she thought to herself, "even if he is really too
much vexed with me to forgive me, he will come for mamma's sake."
All next day they both kept indoors. Lucia tried to persuade her mother
to drive out into the country, but even for this Mrs. Costello had not
courage. At the same time she seemed to be losing all sense of security
in the house. She fancied she had not sufficiently impressed on Father
Paul the importance of not betraying her in any way to Bailey. She
wished to write and remind him of this, but she dared not lest her note
should fall into wrong hands. Then she thought of asking him to visit
her, but hesitated also about that till it was too late. In short, was
in a perfectly unreasonable and incapable condition--fear had taken such
hold of her in her weak state of health that Lucia began to think it
would end in nervous fever. With her the dread of Bailey began to be
quite lost in apprehension for her mother, and her own affairs had to
be put altogether on one side to make room for these new anxieties.
In the afternoon of that day Mrs. Costello suddenly roused herself from
a fit of thought.
"We must go somewhere," she said. "That is certain, whatever else is. As
soon as Maurice comes we ought to be prepared to start. Do go, Lucia,
and see if there is any packing you can do--without attracting
attention, you know."
"But, mamma," Lucia objected, "Maurice cannot be here to-day, nor even,
I believe, to-morrow, at the very soonest, and I will soon do what there
is to do."
"There is a great deal. And I can't help you, my poor child. And there
ought not to be a moment's unnecessary delay."
Lucia had to yield. She began to pack as if all their arrangements were
made, though they had no idea either when, or to what end, their
wanderings would recommence, nor were able to give a hint to those about
them of their intended departure.
Another restless night passed, and another day began. There was the
faintest possibility, they calculated, that Maurice, if he started as
soon as he received Lucia's note, might reach them late at night.
It was but the shadow of a chance, for Hunsdon, as they knew, lay at
some distance from either post-office or railway station, and the letter
might not reach him till this very morning. Yet, since he _might_ come,
they must do all they could to be ready. The day was very hot. All the
windows were open, and the shutters closed; a drowsy heat and stillness
filled the rooms. Mrs. Costello walked about perpetually. She had tried
to help Lucia, but had been obliged to leave off and content herself
with gathering up, here and there, the things that were in daily use,
and bringing them to Lucia to put away. They said very little to each
other. Mrs. Costello could think of nothing but Bailey, and she did not
dare to talk about him from some fanciful fear of being overheard. Lucia
thought of her mother's health and of Maurice, and Mrs. Costello had no
attention to spare for either.
Suddenly, sounding very loud in the stillness, there came the roll of a
carriage over the rough stones of the Place. It stopped; there was a
moment's pause, and then a hasty ring at the door-bell. Both mother and
daughter paused and listened. There was a quick movement downstairs--a
foot which was swifter and lighter than Madame Everaert's on the
staircase--and Maurice at the sitting-room door.
Mrs. Costello went forward from the doorway where she had been arrested
by the sound of his coming; Lucia, kneeling before a trunk in the
adjoining room, saw him standing there, and sprang to her feet; he came
in glad, eager, impatient to know what they wanted of him; and before
any of them had time to think about it, this meeting, so much desired
and dreaded, was over.
"But how could you come so soon?" Mrs. Costello asked. "We did not
expect you till to-morrow."
"By the greatest chance. I had been in town for two days. Our station
and post-office are at the same place. When they met me at the station,
they brought me letters which had just arrived, and yours was among
them. So I was able to catch the next train back to London, instead of
going home."
"And which way did you come? The boat is not in yet?"
"By Calais. It was quicker. Now tell me what has happened."
Mrs. Costello looked carefully to see that the door was shut. Then she
told Maurice who and what she feared, and how she could not even leave
Bourg-Cailloux without help.
"Yet, I think I ought to leave," she said.
"Of course you ought," Maurice answered. "You must go to England."