About the first of May, when Cornwall was at its loveliest, everybody
within twenty miles of Toragel (a village famed for its beauty and
antiquity, as artists and tourists know) was delighted to hear that Lord
Trelinnen's place was let at last, and to most desirable tenants. Lord
Trelinnen was elderly, and too poor to live at Roseneath Park, therefore
Toragel had long ceased to be interested in him; but it was intensely
interested in the new people, despite the fact that their advent was the
second excitement which had stirred the fortunate village within the
last year or two.
The first had been the home-coming of Sir Anthony Pendered, the richest
man in the county, who had volunteered for the Boer war, raised a
regiment, and, when peace was declared, had come back to Torr Court
covered with honours. He was only a knight, and had been given his
title because of a valuable new explosive which he had discovered and
made practicable. He had grown enormously rich through his various
inventions, and, after an adventurous life of some thirty-eight years,
had bought a handsome place near his native village, Toragel. At first
the county had looked at him askance, but the South African affair had
settled all aristocratic doubts in his favour. About a year before the
letting of Roseneath Park he had been enthusiastically received by all
classes, and was still a hero in everybody's eyes; nevertheless, the
first excitement had had time to die down, and the county people and the
"best society" of the village united with more or less hidden eagerness
to know what poor old Lord Trelinnen's tenants would be like.
The Trelinnen pew in the pretty church of Toragel was next to that where
Sir Anthony Pendered was usually (and his maiden sister always) to be
seen on Sunday mornings. The first Sunday after the new people's
arrival, the church was full; but service began, and still the Trelinnen
pew was empty. After all, the tenants of Roseneath Park (whom nobody had
seen yet) had come only yesterday. Perhaps they would not appear till
next Sunday; but just as the congregation was sadly resigning itself to
this conclusion, there was a slight rustle at the door. The first hymn
was being sung, therefore eyes were able to turn without too much
levity; and it is wonderful how much and how far an eye can see by
turning almost imperceptibly, particularly if it be the eye of a woman.
Two ladies and a little girl were shown to the Trelinnen pew. Both
ladies were young; the elder could not have been more than twenty-three,
the younger looked scarcely nineteen. Both were in half-mourning; both
were beautiful. They were, in fact, no other than the Honourable Mrs.
Fitzpatrick, and her sisters, Miss Mercy and Mary Milton, these latter
being known in other circles as Joan Carthew and little Minnie Boyle.
The child, who appeared to be about six years old, was charmingly
dressed, and exemplarily good during the service. As for her elders,
they were almost aggravatingly devout, scarcely raising their eyes from
their prayer-books, and never glancing about at their neighbours, not
even at Sir Anthony Pendered, who looked at the two more than he had
ever been known to look at any other women. This was saying a good
deal, because he was by no means a misanthrope, although he was forty
and had contrived to remain a bachelor. It was rumoured that he wished
to marry, if he could find a wife to suit him, though meanwhile he was
content enough with the society of his sister, who was far from
encouraging any matrimonial aspirations.
When Marian and Joan and Minnie were driven back to Roseneath Park (in
the perfect victoria and by the splendid horses which advertised the
solid bank balance they did not possess), the two "elder sisters" talked
over their impressions.
Minnie played with a French doll, that somewhat resembled herself in her
new white frock, with her quantities of yellow hair. Marian, leaning
back on a cushioned sofa, waiting for the luncheon-gong to sound, was
prettier and more distinguished-looking than she had ever been; while
Joan, as Mercy Milton, would scarcely have been recognised by those who
knew her best. Marian's maiden name had really been Milton, and "Mercy"
had been selected to fit the picture for which Joan had chosen to sit.
Her beautiful, gold-brown hair was parted meekly in the middle and
brought down over the ears, finishing with a simple coil in the nape of
her white neck. She was dressed as plainly as a young nun, and had the
air of qualifying for a saint.
"Well, dear, what did you think of him?" she inquired of Marian.
"Of whom?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, blushing.
"Oh, if you are going to be innocent! Well, then, of the distinguished
being whose name and qualifications I showed you in the _Mayfair Budget_
a few days after I got back to England and you. The _eligible parti_,
in fact, whose residence near Toragel is responsible for our choice of
abode."
"Joan! _Don't_ put it like that!"
"'Mercy,' if you please, not Joan. And I've found out exactly what I
wanted to know. Your reception of my brutal frankness has shown me that
you like him. So far, so good."
"I may like him, but that won't help your plan. Oh, Jo--Mercy, I mean,
I do feel such a wretch! That man looks so honest and frank and nice,
and he could hardly take his eyes off you in church. If he knew what
frauds we are!"
"You are not a fraud, and it is you with whom he is concerned, or it
will be, as I'll soon show him, if necessary. Your name _is_
Fitzpatrick; you are a widow; we are sisters--in affection. You haven't
a fib to tell; you've only got to be charming."
"But it's you he admires. I told you it would be so. If one of us is
to be Lady----"
"'Sh!" said Joan; and the gong boomed musically for lunch.
Had it not been for the existence of innocent little Minnie, the county
might not have accepted the lovely sisters as readily as it did. Joan
had thought of that, as she thought of most things; and Minnie, the
_protegee_ of charity, was distinctly an asset. "A very good prop," as
Joan mentally called her, in theatrical slang which she had learned,
perhaps, from her long-vanished mother.
The presence of Minnie in the feminine household gave a kind of
pathetic, domestic grace, which appealed even to tradespeople; and
tradespeople were extremely important in Joan's calculations.
She had obtained credentials, upon starting on her new career, in a
characteristic way. Miss Jenny Mordaunt wrote to Lady John Bevan, asking
for a letter of introduction for a great friend of hers, the Honourable
Mrs. Fitzpatrick, to the solicitors who had charge of Lord Trelinnen's
affairs, as Mrs. Fitzpatrick wanted to take Roseneath Park. Jenny
Mordaunt's late chaperon gladly managed this. Mrs. Fitzpatrick called
upon her, and Lady John was charmed. She had known the "Dishonourable
Dick" slightly, years ago, had heard that he had married an heiress, and
marvelled now that he had been tolerated by so sweet a creature as this.
Lady John offered one or two letters of introduction to old friends in
Cornwall, and they were gratefully accepted. As the friends were not
intimate, and as Lady John detested the country, except when hunting or
shooting was in question, there was little danger that she would
inopportunely appear on the scene and recognise the saintly Mercy Milton
as the late Miss Mordaunt.
Everybody called on the fair, lilylike young widow and her very modest,
retiring, unmarried sister--everybody, that is, with the exception of
Miss Pendered, who pleaded, when her brother urged, that she was too
much of an invalid to call on new people. Soon, however, he boldly went
by himself, excusing his sister with some tale of rheumatism which she
would have indignantly resented. Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were
surrounded with other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced,
and he was just in time to hear a glowing account of the orphaned
sisters' "dear old California home," which Joan had learned by heart,
partly from Marian's reminiscences, partly from a book.
[Illustration: "Mrs. Fitzpatrick and Mercy Milton were surrounded by
other visitors when Sir Anthony Pendered was announced."]
"When father and mother died, little Minnie and I were the loneliest
creatures you can imagine," the gentle Mercy was saying. "Dear Marian
had just lost her husband, and so she wrote for us to join her. It is so
nice having a home in the country again. We both felt we couldn't be
happy without one, and we chose Cornwall because we thought it the
loveliest county in England. We are very glad we did, now, for everybody
has been _so_ kind."
She might have added "and the trades-people _so_ trusting"; but on that
subject she was silent, though she intended that they should go on
trusting indefinitely. Indeed, thus far the scheme worked almost too
easily to be interesting.
Sir Anthony Pendered outstayed the other visitors, and he stopped
unconscionably long for a first call; but that was the fault of his
hostesses, who made themselves so charming that the man lost count of
time--and perhaps lost his head a little, also. At first it seemed that
Marian's impression was right, and that, despite Mercy's retiring ways,
it was the young girl who attracted him. This made Marian secretly sad;
for when she had seen Sir Anthony looking up from his prayer-book in the
adjoining pew, she had said in her heart, with a sigh: "How good he
would be to a woman! How he would pet her and take care of her! To be
his wife would be very different from----" but she had guiltily broken
short that sentence in the midst.
Persuaded and fired by Joan, she had entered into this adventure. She
had even laughed when Joan selected the neighbourhood of Toragel because
a Society paper announced the advent of a particularly desirable
bachelor. "You will be the prettiest and nicest woman in the county, of
course; therefore, he will fall in love with you and propose. He will
marry you; you will live happy ever after; and you will be able to pay
all the debts that we shall have run up in the process of securing him,"
the girl had remarked. But now, when the "desirable bachelor" had
become a living entity, and she felt her heart yearning towards him,
Marian's conscience grew sore. Still, though she told herself that she
could not carry out the plan and try to win Sir Anthony Pendered, it was
a blow to see him prefer Joan.
The symptoms of his admiration were equally displeasing to the girl.
She was deliberately effacing herself for this episode; while it lasted,
she was to be merely the "power behind the throne." Knowing that she
was more strikingly beautiful and brilliant than Marian Fitzpatrick, she
had studied how to reduce her fascinations, that Marian might outshine
her. Evidently she had not entirely succeeded; but during that first
call of Sir Anthony's, she quickly, surreptitiously changed a
diamond-ring from her right hand to the "engaged" finger of her left,
flourished the newly adorned member under his eyes, and spoke, with a
conscious simper, of "going back some day to California to live." Sir
Anthony did not misunderstand, and as he had not yet tumbled over the
brink of that precipice whence a man falls into love, he readjusted his
inclinations. After all, Mrs. Fitzpatrick was as pretty, he thought, and
certainly more sympathetic. He was glad that Minnie was her sister, and
not her child. Though he had always said he would not care to marry a
widow, this case was different from any that he had imagined, for Mrs.
Fitzpatrick had only been married a year or two when her husband died,
and she had soon awakened from her girlish fancy for the man--so Miss
Milton had guilelessly confided to him.
Thanks to this, and much further "guilelessness" of the same kind on the
part of the meek maiden, Sir Anthony Pendered discovered, before the
sisters had been for many weeks tenants of Roseneath Park, that he was
deeply in love with Marian Fitzpatrick. Accordingly, he proposed one
June afternoon, amid the ruins of a storied castle overhanging the sea.
Joan had got up a picnic to this place expressly to give him the
opportunity which she felt triumphantly sure he was seeking, and she was
naturally annoyed with Marian when she discovered that the young widow
had asked for "time to think it over."
"You little idiot! Why didn't you fall into his arms and say
'Yes--yes--_yes_'?" the girl demanded, in Marian's bedroom, when they
had come home towards evening.
"Because I love him, and because I'm a fraud!" exclaimed Marian. "Oh!
I know what you must think of me. I haven't played straight with you,
either. You've done everything for me. I was to make this match; and
the rent of this place, and our horses and carriages, the payment of all
the tradespeople on whom we've been practically living, depend on my
catching the splendid 'fish' you've landed for me. You've lent me a lot
of money; and what you had left when we came here, you've been
spending----"
"I've spread it like very thin butter on very thick bread, to make the
hundreds look like thousands. To carry off a big _coup_ like this, one
must have _some_ ready money," broke in Joan, with a queer little smile
at her own cleverness, and the thought of where it would land her if
Marian's "conscientious scruples" refused to be put to sleep. "We
_shall_ be in rather a scrape if you won't marry Sir Anthony--and you're
made for each other, too. But never mind, we shall get out of it
somehow. At worst, we can disappear."
"And leave everything unpaid, and let him and everybody know we are
adventuresses!" exclaimed Marian, breaking into tears.
"Don't cry, dear; don't worry; and don't decide anything," said Joan.
"I have an idea."
She induced Marian to go to bed and nurse the violent headache which the
battle between heart and conscience had brought on. When it was certain
that Mrs. Fitzpatrick would not appear again that evening, she sent a
little note by hand to Sir Anthony, as fortunately Torr Count was the
next estate to Roseneath Park. "Do come over at once. It is very
important that I should see you," wrote the decorous Mercy.
Sir Anthony Pendered was in the midst of dinner when the communication
arrived, and to his sister's disgust he begged her to excuse him, as it
was necessary to go out immediately on business.
"That adventuress has sent for you!" Ellen Pendered fiercely exclaimed.
"She has got you completely in her net. I don't believe those three are
sisters. They don't look in the least alike, and it is all very well to
say an ignorant nurse spoiled the child's accent. I have heard her talk
more like a Cockney than a Californian. I tell you there is something
wrong, very wrong, about them all."
"I advise you not to tell any one else, then," answered Anthony Pendered
furiously--"that is, unless you wish to break off for ever with me.
This afternoon I asked the 'adventuress,' as you dare to call her, to
marry me, and she refused. I had to plead before she would even promise
to think it over." With this he left his sister also to "think it
over," and decide that, between two evils, it might be wise to choose
the less.
Marian's lover could not guess why Marian's younger sister had sent for
him, and his anxiety increased when he saw the gravity of the girl's
face.
"Is Mar--is Mrs. Fitzpatrick ill?" he stammered.
"A little, because she is unhappy; but you can make her well again--if
you choose," replied Joan inscrutably.
"Of course I choose!" he almost indignantly protested.
"Wait," said she, "and listen to what I have to say. Poor Marian is the
victim of her own goodness and sweet nature; and because she swore to me
that she would never tell the story of our past, she feels it would be
wrong to marry you. I cannot let her suffer for Minnie and me, so I am
now going to tell you, myself. But on this condition--if you do decide
that you want her for your wife in spite of all, you will never once
mention the subject to Marian. I will inform her that you know the
truth and that she is not to speak of it to you. Is that a bargain?"
"Yes; but you needn't tell me the story unless you like. I'm sure _she_
is not to blame for anything," replied the man, who was now thoroughly
in love with Marian, even to the point of wondering what he had ever
seen in Mercy.
"Certainly it is not she; but as she thinks it is, it amounts to the
same thing. The facts are these: Dear, good Marian took pity on Minnie
and me in a London boarding-house, where we chanced to meet after her
widowhood. She had decided to come here to live, because she longed for
the country, but had not meant to take as grand a house as this, as she
had just found out that her dead husband had spent most of her fortune.
I implored her to bring Minnie and me to her new home, and give me a
good chance of getting into society by introducing us as her sisters.
She was rather a 'swell'--at least, she had married an 'Honourable,' and
we were nobodies. The poor darling finally consented to handicap
herself with us. I had a little money, too, which had--er--come to me
through a lucky investment, and I was so anxious to live at Roseneath
Park that I made Marian (who is most unbusiness-like) believe that
together we would have enough to take the place. I am supposed to be
practical, and so the management of everything has been left to me. I
have paid scarcely anything, except the servants' wages, so you see what
I have brought my poor Marian down to. The only atonement I can make is
to try and save her happiness by confessing my wrongdoing to you and
begging that you will not visit it on her."
"I certainly will not do that," said Sir Anthony Pendered quickly. "As
you say, her one fault has been a kindness of heart almost amounting to
weakness, which, in my eyes, makes her more lovable than ever. As for
the loss of her money, that matters nothing to me. I have more than I
want, and----"
"You'll pay everything, without betraying me to Marian? Oh! I don't
deserve it; but _do_ say you will do that, and I will relieve you of my
presence near your _fiancee_ as soon as possible, as a reward. I know
that, after what I have told you, it would be an embarrassment to you to
see me with Marian, because as you are _very_ chivalrous, you could not
let people know I was not really her sister. I will disappear, and
every one can think I have been suddenly called out to my Californian
lover to be married."
"Doesn't he exist?" questioned Sir Anthony, looking at her "engaged"
finger and thinking of the matrimonial schemes she had just confessed.
"Not in California. But as I haven't been a success here, I may decide
to be true to the person who gave me this ring." (She had bought it
herself.) "Now that I've promised to go out of Marian's life for ever,
you'll guard her happiness by seeing that everything is straightened
here--financially?"
"I shall be only too delighted, if you will tell me how to manage it
without my name appearing in the matter."
"We--ll, if you'd trust the money to me, I'd use it honestly to pay our
debts, and give you all the receipts."
"So it shall be."
"You're a--a brick, Sir Anthony. The only difficulty left then is about
poor little Minnie, of whom Marian is really very fond. People might
gossip if Marian let her youngest sister go back to California with me;
for as we are supposed to be so nearly related, surely it would be
better to save a scandal and let--well, let sleeping sisters lie?"
"If Marian is truly fond of Minnie, there will be plenty of room for the
child at Torr Court, and she will be welcome to stay there, as far as I
am concerned. I must say, Miss--er--Milton, that I think the child will
be better off under our guardianship than in the care of her real
sister."
"You _are_ good, and I quite agree with you," responded Joan meekly, far
from resenting his look of stern reproach. "When you've trusted me with
that money to pay things, and I hand you the receipts, I'll hand you
also a written undertaking never to trouble you or--Lady Pendered. You
would like me to do that, wouldn't you?"
"I--er--perhaps something of the kind might be advisable," murmured Sir
Anthony.
When he had gone, the girl chuckled and clapped her hands. Then she ran
to a looking-glass. "You're not exactly stupid, my dear," she
apostrophised her saintly reflection. "You've provided splendidly for
Marian and you've saved her sensitive conscience. _Her_ slate is clean.
As for Minnie, she will be all right until the time comes, if it ever
does, that you can do better for her. As for yourself--well, you can
leave Marian a couple of hundred for pocket-money, and still get out of
this with something on which to start again. You've finished with Mercy
Milton, thank goodness! and--it _will_ be a relief to do your hair
another way."
Two days later, Joan Carthew had turned her back upon Toragel, and Mrs.
Fitzpatrick's engagement to Sir Anthony Pendered was announced.