MRS. BELSWIN'S CORRESPONDENCE.
"The wisest of plans
A letter upsets,
The penny post bans
The wisest of plans
Tho' woman's tho' man's,
And then one regrets
The wisest of plans
A letter upsets."
About three weeks after the visit of Archie and his friend, Mrs.
Belswin was seated on the fallen trunk of a tree in Thornstream Park,
meditating deeply over two letters lying on her lap. Around her the
heavy foliage of the trees rustled in the chilly morning air, above
her the sun shot golden arrows from the blue sky, and below her feet
the lush grass, starred with delicate woodland flowers, sloped gently
down to a babbling brook, the brown waters of which rippled noisily
over its smooth stones.
But Mrs. Belswin, with a frown on her face, paid no attention to these
things, being occupied with disagreeable thoughts, evoked by the
letters aforesaid; and after a pause she took up one impatiently, in
order to read it for the second time.
"Carissima Mia,
"Why have you not written to me for so long? Every day I say, 'She
will send to me a letter,' and every day I find the postman comes not.
This is not right conduct to him who adores thee, my Lucrezia, and
there is fear in my heart that I may lose thee. I am now singing at
the Theatre Folly, in an _opera comique_ called 'Sultana Fatima,' and
they pay me well, as they should, seeing I leave the grand Italian
Opera for this street music. But that my English is so good, I would
not have been the chief tenor here. It is not hard to sing, and I am
content since I waste not my time and am near thee. But thou, oh my
star adorable, must not stay long from him who hungers for thy smile.
When does the illustrious husband come again? for I know that he will
drive thee back to me, and we will go at once to my beautiful Italy.
Send me a letter and say when thou wilt come to me, or I swear that I
will come to thee in the country, in order to behold thee again. Thou
hast seen thy child those many months; now I will that thou should'st
return. I wait thy answer saying thou wilt return, or I myself will
behold thee in thy village. Cara signora, I kiss your hand,
"Thine unhappy
"Stephano."
When she had finished this, Mrs. Belswin let it fall on her lap, with
a shrug of her shoulders, and picked up the other letter, which
consisted of two lines----
"Pethram returns in three weeks, so unless you want trouble you'd
better clear out.--A. D."
"Had I?" said the reader, sneering. "I'm not so sure about that, Mr.
Dombrain. I'll leave this place when I choose. So Rupert Pethram is
coming home, and I, if I please, can see him. Husband and wife will
meet again after twenty years of separation. How dramatic the
interview will be! I can well imagine it, and yet I am not sure it
will take place. I cannot retain my position as chaperon to Kaituna if
he is in the house. I cannot disguise myself, for Kaituna would ask
the reason--besides, I'm too impulsive to act a part. If I go I part
from my daughter for ever; if I stay, Rupert will certainly recognise
me, and then he will force me to leave the house. What a terrible
position!--to be driven away after a glimpse of paradise; and yet I
can do nothing to help myself--positively nothing."
She stopped short, with a feeling of deep anger at her helplessness,
but she did not attempt to disguise the truth from herself--she could
do nothing. The law was on the side of her husband, and she could
never hope to regain the position she had forfeited by her former
folly. 'As to Stephano Ferrari----
"He'll do what he says," she muttered, glancing at the Italian's
flowery letter. "If I don't go to him, he will come to me, and, with
his hot foreign blood, may create a disturbance. I wouldn't mind for
myself, but Kaituna--I must consider Kaituna. If I refuse to go
with Stephano, he is quite the sort of man to tell her all, and that
would exile me from my daughter more than anything else. Rupert would
make me leave the house; Stephano would lose his temper at what he
calls my obstinacy--I should not care; but if Kaituna knew that I--her
mother--was alive, that I had lost my place in the world and become an
outcast, she would scorn me--my own child! Oh, I could not bear that,
it would kill me!"
With her face in her hands she rocked to and fro in an agony of grief,
and when she recovered herself somewhat, her countenance, haggard and
worn, showed how bitterly she felt the position in which she was
placed.
"If I could only die! I wish I could! Hell cannot be worse than the
life I live now. I am near my child, yet dare not tell her I am her
mother; but soon I shall have to go away, and be denied even the poor
consolation of being near her. If only I had the courage to kill
myself! But there, I have the courage, and would die willingly, were
it not for Kaituna. Oh, God! God! I have sinned deeply, but my
punishment is very heavy--heavier than I can bear!"
She had risen to her feet, and was walking to and fro in the narrow
space of the glade, swinging her arms in a very storm of passionate
grief. The mask she had worn for the last few weeks so carefully was
now thrown aside, and she abandoned herself to her agony of despair in
the most reckless manner. She wept, she cried, she raved, she flung
herself on the ground--in fact, she gave herself up wholly to her mood
of the moment. Truly the quiet English glade had never seen a stranger
sight than that of this savage woman abandoning herself to transports
of impotent fury.
"Why am I so helpless?" she cried furiously, lifting up her arms to
the blue sky. "If I have sinned, I have been punished. For twenty
years I have borne my punishment, but I can do so no longer. She is my
child--mine--mine--mine! They cannot take her from me. I am her
mother! God gave her to me, and man shall not take her away! I love
her better than her cold fiend of a father; she is my life, my soul,
my existence! If I leave her I shall die. I will not leave her! I will
not leave her! No! no! no!"
She stamped furiously on the ground, gnashing her teeth with rage, and
staring at the sky with fierce face and clenched hands; but after a
time her fury exhausted itself, and, sitting down on the fallen tree
again, she began to weep bitterly.
"My little child! oh, my little child! I can do nothing. I must leave
you, and go away alone. Ferrari loves me, but what is his love
compared to yours, dear. You have kissed me, you have placed your arms
round my neck, you have given my starved heart the love it desired;
and now--now I must give up all, and go away--for ever! Oh, cruel!
cruel! And I can do nothing!"
Rocking herself to and fro, she wept quietly for a time; then, drying
her tears, put the letters in her pocket and rose to go.
"I must not give way like this," she said to herself as she left the
glade. "It will do no good. I must see how I can manage to retain my
position. Rupert, Stephano, Dombrain--they are all against me. Three
against one, but I'll try my hardest to conquer them. It's a woman's
wit against men's brutality; but I'll fight--I'll fight and win. If I
win, I gain all. If I lose--oh, God! if I lose!--I surrender
everything."
The morning was very chilly, in spite of its being summer, and Mrs.
Belswin, having all the love for warmth inherent in those born in the
tropics, shivered at the cold east wind, but feeling too upset to
return direct to the house and face Kaituna's inquiring gaze, made up
her mind to take a brisk walk. She wore a heavy sealskin mantle, and
thrusting her hands into the deep pockets, walked quickly against the
wind, thinking deeply over her position.
It was truly a terrible dilemma in which she now found herself. Exiled
from her daughter for so many years, and all through her own fault,
yet she had been quite unable to stifle the natural instinct in her
heart. It may be that the desire to be near her daughter constantly
was all the stronger because she knew it was out of the question, and
the enforced suppression of her love in her own breast had given the
pleasure of living with Kaituna, even as a servant, a peculiar charm
of its own. It will doubtless be argued by some people that a woman
who could give up her child for the sake of a lover, could not have
had much maternal instinct; but then it must be recollected that Mrs.
Belswin had then acted on the impulse of a moment in doing so, and had
regretted her folly ever since. When she thought of all she had lost
for one moment of folly it made her mad with rage, and she would have
sacrificed anything to regain her forfeited position.
Thanks to her knowledge of how matters stood, and her own dexterity,
she had been enabled to gain her ends for at least some months, but
now her husband was coming home again she knew that she would have to
seek refuge in flight. She was a bold woman, a determined woman, and
all her life's happiness was at stake, yet she knew it was perfectly
useless to appeal to her husband for pity or help. By her own act she
had forfeited her right to approach him, and the act had brought its
own bitter punishment, by robbing her of the delight of gratifying her
strong maternal instinct. Like a tiger who desires more blood when he
has once tasted it, Mrs. Belswin had just experienced sufficient
delight in being near her child to make her passionately regret having
to depart. Plan after plan she thought of and rejected as useless,
because she saw quite plainly that she could do nothing against the
position held by her husband. Law, society, morality were all against
her, and she could only stand afar off weeping bitterly as she
surveyed the paradise from which she had banished herself.
"Oh, I could kill Rupert! I could kill him," she thought madly, "but
that would do no good. If I thought it would I should not hesitate. I
dare not tell Kaituna the truth, because she would shrink from me.
Rupert, once he knows I am here will not let me remain. If I sold my
soul it would be useless. I can do nothing except bear my punishment
till I die."
Suddenly an idea came into her head. Suppose Rupert Pethram were to
die before he came to Thornstream. In that case she would still retain
her position, and be happy for the rest of her life. But then there
was no chance of him dying--a healthy, strong man. And unless
something happened he would return to Thornstream and turn her out on
the world.
"If the ship would only go down! If God would only unchain the winds
of heaven and dash the ship to pieces on the rocks."
Mrs. Belswin, as it will be seen, was not a religious woman when she
thought thus, and was willing to sacrifice dozens of human lives in
order to get rid of her enemy. It was simply Balzac's mandarin over
again, and Mrs. Belswin, with her savage disregard of human life,
would have sacrificed all the mandarins in China, yea, China itself,
if by so doing she could have retained her position undisturbed.
However, there was but small possibility of either mandarin or ship
perishing to please her, so she began to wonder in her own mind how
she could get rid of Pethram before he could arrive at Thornstream.
Ah, if Stephano Ferrari----
Stephano Ferrari! The idea came to her like an inspiration, and she
hurriedly thought out a plan. Ferrari loved her, he would do anything
to get her to marry him. Well, she would do so provided he got rid of
Pethram and secured her position with her daughter. Murder! no, not
murder, but suppose Pethram disappeared? Then----
Her brain was in a whirl, her throat was dry with excitement, and she
leaned against a fence for a few minutes to keep herself from falling,
for the earth seemed spinning round her and the sky red as blood
before her eyes. With an effort she pulled herself together and looked
around.
"Mrs. Belk's cottage," she said, with a gasp of relief! "I'll go in
and rest."