One hot summer day, a few months after the marriage, Juliet, returning to
the consulate after a morning spent in very active exercise upon a tennis
court, was met on the doorstep by Dora, the youngest of the Clarency
Butchers, who was awaiting her approach in a high state of excitement.
"Hurry up, Juliet," she cried, as soon as she could make herself
heard. "You'll never guess what there is for you. Something you don't
often get!"
"What is it?" said Juliet, coming up the steps.
"Guess!"
"A present?"
"No; at least I suppose not; but there may be one inside."
"Inside? Oh, then it's a parcel?" asked Juliet good-humouredly.
She felt a mild curiosity, tempered by the knowledge that many things
provided a thrill for the ten-year-old Dora, which she, from the advanced
age of twenty-three, could not look upon as particularly exciting.
"No, not a parcel," cried Dora, dancing round her. "It's a letter.
There now!"
"Then why do you say it's something I don't often get?" asked Juliet
suspiciously; "I often get letters. It's an invitation to the Gertignés'
dance, I expect."
"No, no, it isn't. It's a letter from England. You don't often get one
from there, now, do you? You never did before since we've been here. I
always examine your letters, you know," said Dora, "to see if they look
as if they came from young men. So does Margaret. We think it's time you
got engaged."
Margaret was the next sister.
"It's very good of you to take such an interest in my fate," Juliet
replied, as she pulled off her gloves and went to the side-table for the
letter. As a matter of fact she was a good deal excited now; for what the
child said was true enough. She might even have gone further, and said
that she had never had a letter from England, except while Sir Arthur was
there on leave.
It was a large envelope, addressed in a clerk's handwriting, and she came
to the conclusion, as she tore it open, that it must be an advertisement
from some shop.
"DEAR MADAM,--We shall esteem it a favour if you can make it convenient
to call upon us one day next week, upon a matter of business connected
with a member of your family. It is impossible to give you further
details in a letter; but if you will grant us the interview we venture to
ask, we may go so far as to say that there appears to us to be a
reasonable probability of the result being of advantage to yourself.
Trusting that you will let us have an immediate reply, in which you will
kindly name the day and hour when we may expect to see you.--We are,
yours faithfully,
"FINDLAY & INCE, _Solicitors_."
The address was a street in Holborn.
Juliet read the letter through, and straightway read it through again,
with a beating heart. What did it mean? Was it possible she was going to
find her own family at last?
She was recalled to the present by the voice of Dora, whom she now
perceived to be reading the letter over her shoulder with
unblushing interest.
"Say," said Dora, "isn't it exciting? 'Something to your advantage!' Just
what they put in the agony column when they leave you a fortune. I bet
your long-lost uncle in the West has kicked the bucket, and left you all
his ill-gotten gains. Mark my words. You'll come back from England a
lovely heiress. I do wish the others would come in. There's no one in the
house, except Sir Arthur."
"Where is he?" said Juliet, putting the sheet of paper back into the
envelope and slipping it under her waistband. "You know, Dora, it's not
at all a nice thing to read other people's letters. I wonder you aren't
ashamed of yourself. I'm surprised at you."
"I shouldn't have read it if you'd been quicker about telling me what was
in it," retorted Dora. "It's not at all a nice thing to put temptation in
the way of a little girl like me. Do you suppose I'm made of cast iron?"
She departed with an injured air, and Juliet went to look for the consul.
"What is it?" he asked, as she put the envelope into his hand. "A letter
you want me to read? Not a proposal, eh?" He smiled at her as he unfolded
the large sheet of office paper.
"Hullo, what's this?"
He read it through carefully.
"Why, Juliet," he said, when he had finished, "this is very interesting,
isn't it? It looks as if you were going to find out something about
yourself, doesn't it? After all these years! Well, well."
"You think I must go, then," she said a little doubtfully.
"Go? Of course I should go, if I were you. Why not?"
"You don't think it is a hoax?"
"No, no; I see no reason to suppose such a thing. I know the firm of
Findlay & Ince quite well by name and reputation."
"Oh, I hope they will tell me who I am!" cried Juliet. "Have you no idea
at all, father?"
"No, my dear, you know I have not. Besides, I promised Lena I would never
ask. You are the child of a friend of hers. That is all I know. I think
she scarcely realized how hard it would be for you not to know more when
you grew up. I often think that if she had lived she would have told you
before now."
"If you promised her not to ask, I won't ask either," said Juliet
loyally. "But I hope they'll tell me. It will be different, won't it, if
they tell me without my asking?"
"I think you might ask," said Sir Arthur. "It is absurd that you should
be bound by a promise that I made. And you may be sure of one thing. Your
asking, or your not asking, won't make any odds to Findlay & Ince. If
they mean to tell you, they will; and, if they don't, you're not likely
to get it out of them."
"And when shall I go?" cried Juliet. "They say they want me to answer
immediately, you know."
"Oh well, I don't know. In a few days. You will hardly be ready to start
to-morrow, will you?"
"I could be ready, easily," said Juliet.
"You're in a great hurry to get away from us," said Sir Arthur, with a
rather uneasy laugh.
"Not from you." Juliet put her arm through his. "I could never find
another father half as nice as the one I've got. But you could do very
well without so many daughters, you know." She smiled at him mockingly.
"You're like the old woman who lived in a shoe. You ought to set up a
school for young ladies."
"I don't believe I shall be able to get on without my eldest daughter,"
he replied, half-serious. "Still I think it would be better for you if
your real parents have decided to own up to you. At all events, if they
do not turn out desirable, I shall still be here, I hope; so I don't see
how you can lose anything by taking this chance of finding out what you
can about them."
At this point Lady Byrne came into the room, and the news had to be
retold for her benefit; the letter was produced again, and she joined
heartily in the excitement it had caused.
"You had better start on Monday," she said to Juliet. "That will give you
two days to pack, and to write to an hotel for rooms. Are you going to
take her, Arthur?" she added, turning to her husband.
"I would, like a shot," he replied, "but I can't possibly get away next
week. I've got a lot of work on hand just now. I suppose, my dear," he
suggested doubtfully, "that you wouldn't be able to run over with her?"
Lady Byrne declared that it was impossible for her to do so: she had
engagements, she said, for every day of the following week, which it was
out of the question to break. Had Sir Arthur forgotten that they
themselves were having large dinner-parties on Tuesday and Friday? What
she would do without Juliet to help her in preparing for them, she did
not know, but at least it was obvious that some one must be there to
receive his guests. No, Juliet would have to go alone. She was really old
enough to be trusted by herself for three days, and there was no need,
that she could see, for her to be away longer.
"She can go on Monday, see the lawyers on Tuesday, and come back on
Wednesday," said Lady Byrne. "The helplessness of young girls is the one
thing I disapprove of in your European system of education. It is much
better that they should learn to manage their own affairs; and Juliet is
not such a ninny as you seem to think."
"I shall be perfectly all right by myself," Juliet protested.
Sir Arthur did not like it.
"Supposing she is detained in London," he said.
"What should detain her," demanded his wife, "unless it is the discovery
of her parents? And, if she finds them, I presume they will be capable of
looking after her. In any case, she can write, or cable to us when she
has seen the solicitors, and it is no use providing for contingencies
that will probably never arise."
So at last it was decided. A letter was written and dispatched to Messrs.
Findlay & Ince, saying that Miss Byrne would have pleasure in calling
upon them at twelve o'clock on the following Tuesday; and Juliet busied
herself in preparations for her journey.
On Monday morning she left Ostend, in the company of her maid.
It was a glorious August day. On shore the heat was intense, and it was a
relief to get out of the stifling carriages of the crowded boat train,
and to breathe the gentle air from the sea that met them as they crossed
the gangway on to the steamer. Juliet enjoyed every moment of the
journey; and would have been sorry when the crossing was over if she had
not been so eager to set foot upon her native soil.
She leant upon the rail in the bows of the ship, watching the white
cliffs grow taller and more distinct, and felt that now indeed she
understood the emotions with which the heart of the exile is said to
swell at the sight of his own land. She wondered if the sight of their
country moved other passengers on the boat as she herself was moved, and
made timid advances to a lady who was standing near her, in her need of
some companion with whom to share her feeling.
"Have you been away from England a long time," she asked her.
"I have been abroad during a considerable period," replied the person she
addressed, a stern-looking Scotchwoman who did not appear anxious to
enter into conversation.
From her severe demeanour Juliet imagined she might be a governess going
for a holiday.
"You must be glad to be going home," she ventured.
"It's a far cry north to my home," said the Scotchwoman, thawing
slightly. "I'm fearing I will not be seeing it this summer. I'll be
stopping in the south with some friends. The journey north is awful'
expensive."
"I'm sorry you aren't going home," Juliet sympathized, "but it will be
nice to see the English faces at Dover, won't it? There may even be a
Scotchman among the porters, you know, by some chance."
"No fear," said her neighbour gloomily. "They'll be local men, I have
nae doubt. Though whether they are English or Scots," she added, "I'll
have to give them saxpence instead of a fifty-centime bit; which is one
of the bonniest things you see on the Continent, to my way of thinking."
Juliet could get no enthusiasm out of her; and, look which way she might,
she could not see any reflection on the faces of those around her of the
emotions which stirred in her own breast. It had been a rough crossing,
in spite of the cloudless sky and broiling sunshine, and most of the
passengers had been laid low by the rolling of the vessel. They displayed
anxiety enough to reach land; but, as far as she could see, what land it
was they reached was a matter of indifference to them. No doubt, she
thought, when the ship stopped and they felt better, they would be more
disposed to a sentimentality like hers.
She found her maid--who had been one of the most sea-sick of those
aboard--and assisted her ashore, put her into a carriage and
ministered to her wants with the help of a tea-basket containing the
delicious novelty of English bread and butter. In half an hour's time
they were steaming hurriedly towards London. She was to lodge at a
small hotel in Jermyn Street; and on that first evening even this
seemed perfect to her. The badness of the cooking was a thing she
refused to notice; and the astonishing hills and valleys of the bed
caused in her no sensation beyond that of surprise. She was young,
strong and healthy, and there was no reason that trifling discomforts
of this kind should affect her enjoyment. To the shortcomings of the
bed, indeed, she shut her eyes in more senses than one, for she was
asleep three minutes after her head touched the pillow, nor did she
wake till her maid roused her the next morning.
She got up at once and looked out of the window. It was a fine day again;
over the roofs of the houses opposite she could see a blue streak of sky.
Already the air had lost the touch of freshness which comes, even to
London in August, during the first hours of the morning; and the heat in
the low-ceilinged room on the third floor which Juliet occupied for the
sake of economy, was oppressive in spite of the small sash windows being
opened to their utmost capacity. But Juliet only laughed to herself with
pleasure at the brilliancy of the day. She felt that the weather was
playing up to the occasion, as became this important morning of her life.
For that it was important she did not doubt. She was going to hear
tremendous news that day; make wonderful discoveries about her birth;
hear undreamt-of things. Of this she felt absolutely convinced, and it
would not have astonished her to find herself claimed as daughter by any
of the reigning families of Europe. She was prepared for anything, or so
she said to herself, however astounding; and, that being so, she was
excited in proportion. Anyone could have told her that, by this attitude
of mind towards the future, she was laying up for herself disappointment
at the least, if not the bitterest disillusions; but there was no one to
throw cold water on her hopes, and she filled the air with castles of
every style of architecture that her fancy suggested, without any
hindrance from doubt or misgiving.
She dressed quickly, in the gayest humour, but with even more care than
she usually bestowed upon her appearance; a subject to which she always
gave the fullest attention.
"Which dress will Mademoiselle wear?" the maid asked her.
"Why, my prettiest, naturally," she replied.
"What, the white one that Mademoiselle wore for the marriage of Monsieur,
her papa?" inquired Thérèse, scandalized at the idea of such a precious
garment being put on before breakfast.
"That very one," Juliet assured her, undaunted; and was arrayed in it, in
spite of obvious disapproval.
After breakfast they went out, and, inquiring their way to Bond Street,
flattened their noses against the shop windows to their mutual
satisfaction.
They had it almost to themselves, for there were not many people left in
that part of London; but more than one head was turned to gaze at the
pretty girl in the garden-party dress, who stood transfixed before shop
after shop. This amusement lasted till half-past eleven, when they
returned to the hotel for Juliet to give the final pats to her hair, and
to retilt her hat to an angle possibly more becoming, before she started
to keep her appointment with the solicitors. The next twenty minutes were
spent in cross-examining the hotel porter as to the time it would take to
drive to her destination, and, having decided to start at ten minutes to
twelve, in wondering whether the quarter of an hour which had still to
elapse would ever come to an end.
At three minutes to twelve she rang the bell of the office of Messrs.
Findlay & Ince.