COLONEL ALSAGER'S COUNSEL.
When Laurence Alsager awoke the morning after Miss Gillespie's
piano-performance, his thoughts immediately turned to the mysterious
note which he had received on the previous evening, and he stretched
out his hand and took it from the dressing-table, where he had placed
it just before dropping off to sleep. He read it again and again, and
each perusal strengthened his belief. It was written by Miss
Gillespie--of that he had little doubt--and was intended to convey a
warning of proximate danger to Lady Mitford, and counsel to him to
avert this danger if possible, by remaining at Redmoor. It seemed
further to imply that some protection which had hitherto been extended
over her would necessarily be withdrawn, and that his presence was
consequently more than ever needful. At this conclusion Laurence
arrived; it was but a lame and impotent one, after all, and he
determined to seek the solution at an interview with Miss Gillespie as
soon as possible.
He was the earliest in the breakfast-room, and found a batch of
letters lying in his accustomed place. They were of all
kinds,--foreign letters from men whose acquaintance he had made
abroad, and the gist of whose correspondence lay in an endeavour to
tempt him to come out to them again; a business letter or two about
the investment of some spare cash; a line from Blab Bertram, wondering
when L. A. was coming to town, and "what was the use of leaving Egypt
if you stuck down in Devon?" and a thick old-fashioned letter, on
yellowish gilt-edged paper, sealed with a large seal, and directed in
a bold yet tremulous hand--his father's. Alsager's conscience pricked
him as he came upon this letter at the bottom of the little pile; he
had been two months in England, after two years' absence, and had not
yet found time to visit his father. They had been always very good
friends; indeed when Laurence was at Eton, the tie between them was of
the strongest, and they were more like brothers than father and son.
With the young man's life at Oxford their relations were a little less
intimate; Laurence was beginning to see life with his coevals, and
found Sir Peregrine's society a check and hindrance on his enjoyment.
The father perceived this, and weakly allowed himself to be annoyed at
it. He was hurt and jealous at his son's preference of younger
companions, at his own inability to amuse or interest his son's
friends; and from that time forth there was a slight estrangement
between them. Laurence had the enjoyment of his mother's fortune on
coming of age, so that he was perfectly independent of his father;
and his joining the Guards was entirely his own doing, and to a
certain extent against his father's wish. Sir Peregrine was of that
old-fashioned school which abhorred London and its ways, and thought a
country gentleman ought to live entirely on his own estate, in
superintending which, and in joining the sports of the field, he would
find plenty of amusement and occupation. Their ideas and tastes being
thus different, it was tacitly felt by both that they were best apart,
and during the last few years they had not met a dozen times. Sir
Peregrine's annual visit to London was generally made in the winter,
when Laurence was staying with country friends; and Laurence found
little attraction in the dozy, prosy county-magistrate society which
the old gentleman gathered round him at Knockholt.
But his conscience pricked him when he saw the old gentleman's letter,
which had been forwarded to him from his club--pricked him sharply
after he had opened it and read as follows:
"Knockholt, Friday.
"My Dear Lance,--If you have not any very particular engagements, I
think it would be as well if you were to come down here for a day or
two. There are some things I want to talk over with you, and I think
the sooner our business is done the better. I had a nasty fall a
fortnight ago, when I was out with Lord Hawkshaw's pack; and though
Galton says it's nothing, I was a good deal shaken at the time, and
feel it has jarred me more than they think; for I have an odd kind of
all-overish pain, which I can't explain to them, and can't account for
to myself. Not that I am going to die, that I know of; but one does
not fall lightly when one weighs fifteen stone, nor get over a cropper
quickly when one is sixty-seven years old. So, my dear Lance, put up
with the old house and the old man for a few days, and come. I have a
surprise for you.--Your affectionate father, P. A.
"P.S.--Captain Freeman saw you looking out of the club-window when he
was in London in January. He says you had a beard like a billy-goat.
For God's sake, my dear Lance, go to a barber before I see you! I hate
all such foreign affectations. P. A."
Laurence looked grave over the letter, but could not help smiling at
the postscript, so characteristic of his father. He did not at all
like the aspect of affairs at Knockholt; his father was evidently far
more hurt than either the doctors imagined or he himself would allow.
His ward, Miss Manningtree, and her governess, resided with the old
gentleman; but Laurence knew too little of either to feel confidence
in their capacity, their care, or their judgment in the matter of
medical advice. They might think Galton all-sufficient and infallible;
he didn't. He would go down at once, at least as soon as he had
learned from Miss Gillespie what really was meant by her mysterious
letter. He had been too long dallying at Capri; but now that duty
called him away, he would obey cheerfully. By the time he had finished
his letter and formed his resolution, Captain Bligh had entered the
room, and had plunged deeply into his breakfast, which he took
standing, now making a dive at the toast-rack, now impaling a bloater,
now walking round and pouring out a cup of tea; for there were no
ladies present, and the captain was in a hurry, having much business
on hand.
"Morning, Alsager," said the Captain, when Laurence looked up. "Queer
start this, isn't it?"
"What? I'm only just down; I've seen nobody and heard nothing."
"Oh, about that girl that sung last night,--Mrs. Hammond's governess.
What's her name?"
"Miss Gillespie?"
"Ah, that's she! Wouldn't have thought it of her--would you?"
"What's she done?"
"Done! Bolted, that's all!--bolted slick away, no one knows where!"
"What on earth for?"
"No one knows that either. Rummest thing is, that she hasn't taken
anything with her--anything of anybody else's, I mean. Now, if she'd
walked off with some of that little Hammond woman's swell clothes, or
jool'ry, one could understand it; but she's left a lot of her own
behind."
"Did she give no hint of this? Has she left no explanation?"
"Well, I don't know about explanation. She's left a note for Mrs.
Hammond, which I've got in my pocket. Mrs. Hammond gave it to Mitford,
and he sent for me and handed it over, and asked me what I thought of
it."
"It's not private, I suppose. May I look at it?"
"By all means--nothing private about it. Can't conceive why Mitford
gave it to me. I can do nothing with it." So saying Captain Bligh took
out the little scrap of paper from his waistcoat pocket, and handed it
to Alsager.
There was no longer the least doubt about Laurence's mysterious
correspondent. Both notes were in the same handwriting.
At luncheon that day Miss Gillespie's disappearance was the principal
theme of conversation, and many and various were the comments it
evoked. Lady Mitford seemed a little scandalized at the circumstance;
but Mrs. Hammond, her first astonishment over, treated it very
lightly. She had always thought Miss Gillespie a "curious person," she
said; there was always something "odd" about her. Very likely, when
they got back to town, they would find she would return to them.
Perhaps, after all, the reason of her flight was that she was a little
bored in the country. And then Mrs. Hammond forgot all about Miss
Gillespie in her delight at having Sir Charles Mitford sitting next
her again, at finding him paying her little attentions and
compliments, talking to her in a dropped voice, and regarding her with
deep tender glances, just as he had done in the first days of her
visit to Redmoor. She delighted in all this, and her delight was
increased when she marked the grave gloom on Laurence Alsager's face,
as she shot a glance of saucy triumph across at him. Then he guessed
the meaning of Miss Gillespie's note more thoroughly than he had yet
done. She had had some hold either on Mrs. Hammond or on Sir Charles;
that was gone, and he alone was left to do his best to keep them in
check. And what could he do? Any overt act of his would be
misconstrued by Mrs. Hammond, and turned to her own purposes, while
over Mitford he had not the smallest power. What could he do? Had Lord
Dollamore given any sign of intending to persecute Lady Mitford with
his attentions, Laurence thought that his staying in the house might
be of some use; but Dollamore had hitherto been perfectly respectful.
So Alsager determined that he would remain a couple of days longer,
and then start off for Knockholt.
After luncheon a proposal was made to go and see some new horses which
Captain Bligh had inspected when last in Torquay, and which he thought
might be obtained as bargains. So most of the party adjourned to the
stable-yard, where these horses had been brought; and the visit ended
in a pair of them being put to, and Sir Charles and Mrs. Hammond
mounting the phaeton to which they were harnessed. The horses were
young and fresh, and plunged a great deal at starting; but Sir Charles
had them well in hand, and with his companion by his side and a groom
in the back-seat, went flying down the avenue. It was full an hour
before they returned, and Sir Charles's verdict on the pair was that
they were too hot to hold. He had had all his work, he said, to keep
them at all within bounds. Mrs. Hammond looked flushed and elated; but
she went straight up to Lady Mitford, and told her how she had enjoyed
the drive, and was full of praises of Sir Charles's powers of
coachmanship.
That evening Sir Charles took Mrs. Hammond in to the dining-room, and
addressed his conversation principally to her. He drank a great deal
of wine both with and after dinner, and was in more boisterous spirits
than any of his friends had yet seen him. When they went into the
drawing-room he made straight for Mrs. Hammond's chair, and there he
remained the whole evening, talking to her in a lowered tone, and
regarding her with glances the fire of which had by no means been
subdued by the quantity of claret he had drunk. Poor Georgie! The
events of this day, culminating as they were, had totally upset her,
and had reduced her very much to the same condition as when she begged
Alsager to be her charioteer to Egremont Priory. There could be no
mistake about it now. Surely it was a flagrant case; and the colour
flushed in her cheeks as she saw Mrs. Masters's shoulder-shrugs and
marked Lord Dollamore's ill-disguised cynical manner. Poor Georgie!
She asked Mrs. Charteris to sing, and sat and listened to her as
usual, and thanked her at the end of the performance; and she chatted
with the Tyrrell girls, and she took the deepest interest in Mrs.
Masters's embroidery,--and all the time her heart was sick within her,
and she kept stealing glances at the couple seated in the embrasure of
the window, with their heads so nearly touching. All present noticed
her state of mind; but no one understood it or pitied it like Laurence
Alsager, who began to confess to himself that what Dollamore had
prophesied at the club was undoubtedly coming true, so far as Mitford
was concerned; and did, not the wife's future, even in Lord
Dollamore's prophecy, hinge upon the husband's conduct? It was a most
horrible shame; but how on earth was he to protest against it? He had
no position to enable him to do anything of the kind. There was only
one thing that he could do, and that was to speak to Laura Hammond. He
could do that; it might not be of much use, but he would do it.
So, accordingly, the next morning after breakfast Colonel Alsager
sent to Mrs. Hammond a polite little note, in which he presented
his compliments, and requested the pleasure of a few minutes'
conversation; and to which a verbal answer was returned to the effect
that Mrs. Hammond would be delighted to see Colonel Alsager, if he
could come up at once. He followed the lady's-maid, and found Mrs.
Hammond in the boudoir, dressed in her habit and hat. She received him
with great cordiality.
"I am so sorry to have sent what may have seemed a peremptory message,
Colonel Alsager," she said; "but the fact is, Sir Charles has been
round here just now, and we have arranged a little riding-party,--he
and I, and Emily Tyrrell, and Captain Bligh, and Mr. Somers, and one
or two more; and I promised to be ready by eleven."
"Make no excuses, pray," said Laurence, in a hard dry tone. "I won't
detain you, as your time's valuable, by any preamble. I will simply
ask, are you determined to persist in your present course?"
"In what course, my dear Colonel Alsager?"
"In bringing destruction on a household, Laura Hammond! In blighting
the happiness of a young wife, and spreading snares for a foolish
husband! In rendering yourself conspicuous, and your host
contemptible! Do I speak plainly enough?"
"Scarcely," said she with a little smile; "for though you insult me,
and give way to your own rage, you do not condescend to--or you dare
not--explain your motives. Don't think that I am weak enough to
imagine that you are jealous of me, Laurence. I know you too well for
that. I know that whatever command I may have had over you is past and
gone. But perhaps the passion, the _caprice_ that I had for you--call
it what you will--continues. Suppose it does? Suppose the sight of
you, the meeting with you after so long a separation, has renewed the
dormant flame? You scorn me, and I see you prostrate at the feet of a
sweetly pretty piece of propriety and innocence--don't interrupt me,
please--who then becomes my rival? Revenge is sweet, especially to
women, you know. This child of the fields makes herself my rival,--I
make myself hers! I show to you and others, that if you care for me no
longer, there are others who will. I show to her and others, that if
she is preferred to me by one I--yes, I love,--I am preferred to her
by one she loves. As yet I have never run second for anything for
which I've entered, Colonel Alsager, and I don't intend to do so now."
"You are arguing on utterly false premises,--you are talking worse
than nonsense. Between me and the lady to whom you allude there is
nothing. You need not smile in that way. I swear it! She is as pure
as--"
"Oh, pray spare me! Don't fall into raptures about her
purity,--there's a good creature. Dear me, dear me! this must be a
very bad case, when a man like Colonel Alsager takes a poetical view
of his lady-love, and talks about her purity."
"I came to ask you to abandon this shameless flirtation, Laura
Hammond, for the sake of our old friendship,--as an act of kindness to
me. Your reply is mockery and ridicule. I may use other means to bring
about what I want."
"Ah, you threaten! Then I shall certainly get Mr. Hammond to fight
you! He was out once at Nusserabad, or Hylunjee, or some such place,
I believe. And we can prop him up on his crutches, and get his man
to hold him, and I've no doubt he'd be strong enough to fire a
pistol.--No," she added, suddenly changing her tone, "don't threaten,
and don't thwart me; else let our innocent young friend look to
herself. I'll break her heart, and then I'll spoil her name,--that's
all. And now, I really must run away. Sir Charles will have been
waiting for me full ten minutes." She touched the brim of her hat, in
salute, with the handle of her riding-whip, gathered up her habit with
her other hand, and left the room.
"And that is the woman," said Laurence, looking after her, "for whom I
nearly broke my heart; whose rejection of my suit caused me to leave
England,--intending, hoping, never to return. Great Heavens! once in
that state, what idiots we become! Think of this fool flinging away a
pearl of price, reputation, decency,--and all for _that!_ Think of
that poor child his wife having pinned her faith and her affections on
to such a shallow oaf! There can be no doubt about Miss Gillespie's
meaning now; no doubt that, partly from innate devilry, partly from
pique, Laura Hammond will pursue her scheme to the very end. And I am
powerless to interfere."
He went down to the library with the intention of writing a letter to
his father announcing his immediate arrival; but as he entered the
room, he saw through the deep bay-window fronting him, which looked
down upon the terrace, the cavalcade departing down the avenue. At
some considerable distance behind the others rode Sir Charles Mitford
and Mrs. Hammond; and he was bending towards her, and talking in an
apparently impressive manner.
Laurence shrugged his shoulders and turned away in disgust;
but he had not reached the writing-table before he heard a
deep sigh, succeeded by a passionate sobbing, and turning
quickly round, saw Lady Mitford leaning against the window
and half-hidden by the heavy curtains,--her face buried in her
hands, her whole frame convulsed with the violence of her grief.
Laurence would have retreated from the room, but his footsteps had
attracted her attention; and as she looked their eyes met. He at once
approached her, saying, "You will believe me when I say that it was
quite by chance I entered the room, Lady Mitford,--without the least
idea that you were here; but I am glad now that I came, for you are, I
fear, very unwell; and--"
"It is nothing," she said, with a strong but ineffectual effort to
resume her usual calmness; "it is nothing, indeed, Colonel Alsager; a
little silly woman's weakness--nothing more. I am over-tired, I think;
we have been up later the last few nights, you know, and I am so
totally unused to dissipation even of the mildest kind."
"You will be better when you return to London, perhaps," said
Laurence; "I have a strong notion that the marsh on this great Redmoor
is anything but a sanitary adjunct to the property. I should really
advise your getting back to town as soon as possible, now Parliament
has met; and soon everybody will be there."
In London, Laurence thought, Mrs. Hammond will at all events be out of
the house, and in other gaiety there might be a chance of Mitford's
getting rid of his infatuation.
"Oh, I'm frightened at the very thought of returning to town; and yet,
down here, there are--I mean--it's--how very silly of me!--you must
excuse me, Colonel Alsager, I am anything but strong;" and poor
Georgie's tears began to flow again.
"So I see," said Laurence, in a very gentle tone. She had seated
herself in one corner of a low brown morocco-leather couch that stood
across the window. Hitherto he had been standing, but he now placed
himself at the other end of the sofa.
"I think," said he, bending forward, and speaking in the same low
earnest voice,--"I think, dear Lady Mitford, that you will be disposed
to give me credit for taking a deep and friendly interest in you."
She looked at him through the tears that still stood in her splendid
eyes--a frank, trusting, honest glance; and as he hesitated, she said,
"I know it--I have proved it."
"Then, though your sex is taught to believe that mine is thoroughly
selfish and heartless,--never moving without some end for its own
benefit in view,--you still believe that what I am about to say to you
is dictated simply by the hope to serve you, the desire to see you
happy?"
She bowed her head, but did not speak this time. Her tears were gone,
but there was a painful look of anxiety in her eyes, and the spasmodic
motion of the muscles of the mouth betrayed her agitation.
"You are very young," he continued, "and wholly unacquainted with the
world. I am certainly past the freshness of youth, and I should think
there are not many of my age more thoroughly versed in the world's
ways. And one of its ways, dear Lady Mitford, one of its never-failing
and most repulsive ways, is to rob life of the glamour with which
youth invests it; to lift up a corner of the silken curtain of the
fairy temple and show the rough bare boards and wooden trestles behind
it; to throw stumbling-blocks in the paths of happiness, and to drag
down those now falling to a lower depth; to poison truth's well, to
blacken innocence, and to sow distrust and misery broadcast,--these
are among the world's ways. To be pure, noble, and beloved, is at once
to provoke the world's hatred. Is it any wonder then that some of its
emissaries are plotting against _you?_"
A faint blush overspread her cheeks as she said, "I have done nothing
to provoke them."
"Pardon me," said Laurence, "you have offended in the three ways I
have just pointed out: there are few who offer such a combination of
offences. And the world will have revenge for all. To besmirch your
purity, to lower the nobleness of your nature, are tasks which as yet
it dare not attempt. But to prevent your being beloved,--by those
whose love you have a right to claim,--is apparently, not really, far
more easily done."
"It is, indeed," cried poor Georgie, mournfully; "it is, indeed."
"I said apparently, not really," continued Laurence. "To defeat such
an attempt as this is the easiest thing in the world, if you only have
the _savoir faire_, and will use the weapons in your armoury. Even in
the most purely pastoral times, love in marriage was not all that was
requisite for happiness. If Phyllis had done nothing but sit at
Corydon's feet and worship him--if she had not been his companion and
friend as well as his wife,--now talking to him about the crop in the
forty-acre pasture, now telling him of the pigs eating the beech-nuts
under that wide-spreading tree where that lazy Tityrus used to lie in
the summer; moreover, if Corydon had not had his farm and flock to
attend to,--he would at a very early period of their married life have
left her solitary, while he sported with Amaryllis in the shade, or
played with the tangle of Neaera's hair."
He stopped as he marked her half-puzzled, half-frightened look. "Dear,
dear Lady Mitford," he continued, "let me drop parable and mystery,
and speak plainly to you. I am going away to-morrow or the next day,
and should probably have left with this unsaid; but the accidental
sight of your sorrow has emboldened me to speak, and--and you know I
would say nothing which you should not hear."
At the last words she seemed reassured, and with a little effort she
said, "Speak on, pray, Colonel Alsager; I know I can trust you
entirely."
"Thank you," he said, with a very sweet smile; "I am very proud of
that belief. Now listen: you married when you were a child, and you
have not yet put away childish things. Your notion of married life is
a childish romance, and you are childishly beginning to be frightened
because a cloud has come over it. In his wife a man wants a companion
as well as a plaything, and some one who will amuse as well as worship
him. Your husband is essentially a man of this kind; his resources
within himself are of the very smallest kind; he cares very little for
field-sports, and he conjugates the verb _s'ennuyer_ throughout the
entire day. Consequently, and not unnaturally, he becomes readily
charmed when any one amuses him and takes him out of himself,--more
especially if that some one be pretty and otherwise agreeable. Why
should not you be that some one? Why should not you, dropping--pardon
me for saying it--a little of the visible worship with which you now
regard him,--why should not you be his constant companion, riding with
him, making him drive you out, planning schemes for his amusement? If
you once do this, and get him to look upon you as his companion as
well as his wife, there will be no more cause for tears, Lady Mitford,
depend upon it."
"Do you think so?--do you really think so? Oh, I would give anything
for that!"
"And get him to London quickly, above all things. You are to have your
opera-box, I heard you say; and there is the Park; and in this your
first season you will never be allowed to be quiet for an instant."
"Yes; I think you're right. I will ask Charley to go back to town at
once. There will be no difficulty, I think. The Charterises are gone;
Mrs. Masters and the Tyrrells go to-morrow; and Captain Bligh is going
to Scotland to look at some shooting-quarters for Charley in the
autumn. There are only--only the Hammonds."
"I really do not think it necessary to take them into account in
making your arrangements," said Laurence. "Besides, unless I'm very
much mistaken, when Mrs. Hammond finds the house emptying, Mr.
Hammond's bronchitis will either be so much better that there will be
no harm in his going to town, or so much worse that there will be
imperative necessity for his consulting a London physician."
"And now, Colonel Alsager, how can I sufficiently thank you for all
this kind advice?" said Georgie hesitatingly.
"By acting up to it, dear Lady Mitford. I hope to hear the best
account of your health and spirits."
"To hear! Will you not be in London?"
"Not just at present. I am at last really going to my father's, and
shall remain there a few weeks. But I shall hear about you from
Bertram, and when I return I shall come and see you."
"There will be no one more welcome," said she, frankly putting out her
hand.
Just at that moment the door opened, and Mr. Banks advanced and handed
a closed envelope to Alsager, saying, "From the railway, Colonel."
It was a telegraphic message; and as such things were rare in those
days, Laurence's heart sunk within him before he broke the envelope.
It was from Dr. Galton at Knockholt, and said,
"Lose no time in coming. Sir Peregrine has had a paralytic stroke."
Half an hour afterwards Laurence was in a phaeton spinning to the
railway. His thoughts were full of self-reproach at his having
hitherto neglected to go to his father; but ever across them came a
vision of Georgie Mitford in the passion of her grief. "Ah, poor
child," he said to himself, "how lovely she looked, and what a life
she has in prospect! I am glad I have left her, for it was beginning
to grow desperate--and yet how I long, oh how I long to be at her side
again!"