And now to accompany the fugitive to London. At first, the mere novelty
of a drive to the station that delicious June day, and the unaccustomed
journey in the train filled her with a sense of overpowering freedom;
but as the heavy express thundered along, her mind, as usual, began
to be uneasy and undecided; her thoughts turned insistently to her
deserted baby girl, and the more she reflected, the more she felt drawn
to Cara--and by her very heart-strings!
When Mrs. Blagdon stepped out on the London platform, it was a
woebegone young woman, with a white and frightened face, that
encountered the glad eyes of her awaiting lover,--who instantly
recognised that his beloved had recently passed through some great
emotional storm, and that her courage had been sorely shaken by this,
the most daring venture of her existence. Here was a different Letty
to the one who had danced with him so gaily at the Brakesby Ball, and
skimmed over the ice on Batley Mere; _she_ was a girl radiant with
youth and expectant happiness, looking out on the future with brave and
shining eyes. This Letty, with her pathetic expression and tremulous
lips, recalled some poor wild bird with a broken wing, and he realised
that he must treat her with extraordinary tact and tenderness.
They went together in search of her luggage, which turned out to be
of surprisingly modest dimensions, and in keeping with its owner’s
costume. Wearing a simple white linen and a plain shady hat, Letty
might be the daughter of a curate, or a clerk, instead of the wife of
a fabulously wealthy man; but her companion understood; she wished to
leave Blagdon as she had gone to him--empty handed. With a lover’s
memory, he recognised her little turquoise brooch, and a certain thin,
old-fashioned locket.
In a few minutes the pair were in a hansom threading their way to the
Cosmopolitan. Letty, sitting very far back in her corner, with a rigid
profile and tightly clasped hands. It was more than two years since she
had been in London, and the noise, the traffic, the varied sights, and
the jostling crowds, struck her in forcible contrast to the silence and
emptiness of the country.
After a long and sensitive silence, Lumley said:
“Letty, you look terribly pale and tired. I am afraid you feel knocked
up?”
“No, no, I’m not tired,” she answered; “but so thirsty, I can scarcely
speak.”
“We will have tea the moment we get to the hotel. It’s just half-past
five now. I’ve taken rooms there.”
“Rooms,” she repeated, looking at him with a vacant gaze.
“Yes; in my name, and what will one day be yours,” and he lifted one
of her hands and kissed it. “Rooms for Captain and Mrs. Lumley.”
The future Mrs. Lumley dragged away her hand, and made no reply; her
face flamed, no one could call her pale now.
“Letty Lumley goes rather well,” continued her companion, unabashed;
“and here we are--come along!” helping her out; then proceeding up
the steps he ushered her into the entrance of the hotel. They passed
through a great hall, entered a spacious lift, and were whirled
to the first floor, where they were evidently expected. A ready
man-servant came forward with (as it seemed to the lady) significant
_empressement_, and threw open the door of a lofty sitting-room,
furnished with heavy silk curtains, tall mirrors between the windows,
a soft dark carpet, Oriental vases, cabinets, lounges, and luxurious
chairs. A formal, expensive apartment, somewhat stiff and gloomy, but
made beautiful with flowers.
“All the flowers you like best, Letty,” explained Lumley, as the man
departed with an order for tea, “every one of your favourites, to bid
you welcome.”
“Yes, lovely,” she faltered. “How--thoughtful of you!” and she buried
her face in a great bowl of roses and carnations. How, she asked
herself, was she, the coward of cowards, to tell Lancelot the truth?
She raised her eyes, and was confronted by a Chinese incense burner; a
monster in bronze, a sort of demon dog, with a high spiral tail, and a
flat, diabolical head, which confronted her on an opposite cabinet,
with a hideous grin.
The bronze demon, as if alive and malignant, appeared to mock her, and
say:
“You know you cannot do it, you little born fool!”
She turned away, and looked out of the window, with misty eyes and a
fluttering heart--aware that, her life had reached a desperate climax!
How could she tell Lancelot, so loyal, so chivalrous, and devoted, that
she had changed her mind in the train, and was determined to return to
Cara by the half-past eight express?
In spite of her most determined efforts, tears dropped on her blouse,
and Lancelot, who had been anxiously watching her, drew her tenderly
towards him, and as she sobbed on his shoulder said, ‘There, there,
there!’ as if he were comforting a child. Steel herself against her
lover as she might, his presence affected her deeply.
“I understand _all_ about it--this has been an awful wrench for you, a
terrible day; but now you must look forward, not backwards any more.
The future is ours, and I have ever so much to say to you.”
“And I to you,” she murmured, drawing away from him, and drying her
eyes as she spoke. She glanced nervously about the room--a room to be
imprinted on her memory as long as memory existed: for here she must
part with Lancelot, and for ever. It would be, so to speak, a chamber
of death, and at the thought she shuddered. How morbid she was growing,
or was she a little mad? There was that grinning devil confronting
her, with wide-open jaws, flattened ears, and staring eyes, and the
background of this lofty, heavily furnished apartment seemed to weigh
upon her senses; the perfume of the roses to stifle her.
“Here is tea,” announced Captain Lumley. “Shall I pour it out and bring
it over to you?”
“No, no, thank you,” rising and taking off her gloves; “but if you
would open the windows?”
“Won’t you take your hat off?”
She hesitated for a moment and murmured:
“My hair is so untidy.”
But ultimately unpinned her hat, and threw it on a sofa; it would not
take long to put on again.
Then she sat down and began to busy herself with the cups and saucers,
and her companion noticed how her hand was shaking. The buoyancy of his
spirits was by this time somewhat crushed. Letty was taking it hardly;
she was so sensitive. But after she had had tea, and was a little
refreshed, they would discuss their plans; meanwhile he would talk any
nonsense to amuse and distract her.
“This is a fine room,” he said, looking about, “and an A1 hotel. Did
Frances ever tell you about Cousin Toby and his bride? No? Well, he
and Rosa funked the honeymoon abroad; it was winter, and they wanted
to stay in town and do theatres and have a good time; but, of course,
their relations, who were in London, barred it--said they must do the
orthodox thing. However, the two laid their plans, were seen off at
Victoria with due pomp, got out at Cannon Street, and sneaked back
here in great glee, and would never have been found out but for Rosa’s
umbrella; it was full of rice and dripped grains all over the stairs
and place. The poor innocents never knew, till they saw themselves
among the fashionable arrivals; but, I say, Letty, you’ve eaten
nothing! Do have some of these strawberries?”
“No, no, thank you.”
“Feel better after your tea?”
“Yes; I was so thirsty, and my head ached; but now I’m all right.” She
put up her hands to her beautiful hair, and he noticed that she was
still wearing her wedding ring.
“Well, now shall I explain things a little, or will you talk first?”
“Do you please begin.” (Anything for a respite.)
“Then may I have a cigarette?”
“Of course you may.”
Lumley rose and took out his case, and began to walk restlessly about
the room; he was one of those men who rarely sit down.
“I’ve arranged matters all right; seen our man of business, Ross, and
had a tremendous jaw with him.” (He did not mention what a strenuous
interview it had been, and how the old family lawyer had exhausted his
wit, his eloquence, and his temper, in endeavouring, as he hoped, to
turn the young idiot from his folly; from rushing headlong into social
and professional extinction.
The idea of young Lumley, whom he had known as a remarkably bright,
clever, steady boy, running off with a married woman,--the wife, too,
of such a well-known character as Hugo Blagdon! What, he asked him,
would his father and sister say? And how could he take a divorced wife
into his regiment?
But it had all been a useless waste of brain tissue, breath, and
temper.)
“It will be plain-sailing, Letty, now we have burned our boats; perhaps
we had better dine downstairs, so as to be _seen_ together on account
of the case.”
“No, no, no,” half rising, and looking at him with a startled
expression.
“But, my darling Letty, unless you are divorced, how can you marry me?
We must give some just cause, for them to go on; I’m not sure that
it’s cricket--a faked elopement--but I see nothing else for it; and I
understand there is no getting over the fact of a private sitting-room:
so I’ve taken this,” nodding at himself in one of the long mirrors
between the windows. “To-night, I shall return to my own diggings, and
you will have the suite to yourself. To-morrow, we will go down to
Broadstairs, I’ve secured rooms for you there. I’m afraid we won’t see
much of one another till the decree nisi is out; the case, of course,
will be undefended; our lawyers will arrange matters very quietly and
try and keep the business out of the papers. We shall have to wait six
months, and then, Letty,” and his voice had a ring of irrepressible
joy, “we will be married!”
Letty attempted to speak, but he put up his hand.
“Of course, it’s a maddening wait, but can’t be helped. I’m going to
Moscow to study Russian all the time, and I’ll write to you every day,
and you to me. You might go abroad if you liked. Mrs. Hesketh has
promised me to befriend you. I’ve been down to see her; she blames
herself for _this_, says she brought us together--not much bringing
wanted on my part, eh, Letty?” And he paused and laughed, a short
excited laugh.
“And what about----” she was beginning.
“Just wait one second, till I finish my innings; I’m wound up like a
clock. Oh, yes, I know--the regiment. I’ve arranged for an exchange to
another in India--that’s settled, and it is all right about money, too.
Did you hear that I came in for a legacy this spring. I have enough for
us both; to-morrow, I’ll open an account for you at Cox’s. This is only
the bald, commonplace outline--and now,” coming to a standstill before
her, “I’ve finished at last, and it’s your turn. What,” he asked with a
smile, “have _you_ got to say?”
“I’ve got to say,” and she rose and faced him with a face white as
death, “that--that--I cannot--do it! No,” speaking with dry lips, “it’s
no use--my heart has failed me, and _I am--going back_.”
Lumley’s amazement was such, that he was dumb; twice he opened his
mouth to speak, but only his breathing could be heard. At last he
stammered out:
“Letty, you are not in earnest,--you cannot return; the worst is over,
and I shall never let you go--never; consider that settled.”
“Oh, but you must--you must!” she cried, twisting her hands together.
“I screwed up my courage--I wrote those farewell letters--I wrote to
him, and I left home--it seems years ago; but before I was half-way to
town I had repented. Yes,” speaking between short dry sobs, “you know
my besetting failing; always standing at the cross roads. This time, I
have made up my mind--I am,” and she gave a great sob, “sure of myself.
I love you, dear, dear Lancelot, but if we carried out your plans, we
should be miserable.”
“No we shouldn’t,” he broke in with hasty emphasis; “on the contrary,
for the first time for years, you will know what it is to be free and
young and happy; you will live like others of your own age, and enjoy a
little sunshine.”
Looking at Letty as she stood with her back to the window, it seemed
incredible that this slim young girl, was already a wife and mother.
“The sun, you mean, would never shine on _me_,” she replied. “All the
time I would be thinking of Cara, wearying to see her, and feeling the
most terrible remorse. Is there anything in the whole world, that can
hurt like that?”
Lumley made no reply, he was struggling hard to keep his emotion well
under control, and she continued tremulously:
“No one will ever know of this madness of mine--no one but you. Hugo
does not come to Sharsley for months and months; as soon as I get
back, I’ll destroy my letter to him, the others as well--they were to
be posted to-morrow. There’s the mail-train at half-past eight, and I
shall easily catch it.”
As she concluded, she picked up her hat, and put it on mechanically.
Meanwhile Lumley stood listening to her, watching her keenly, and
assuring himself that in the coming struggle between two wills, the
victory _must_ go to the strong.
“I am pleading as much for your sake as mine,” she resumed, looking at
him with wistful dignity, and not a little daunted by his continued
silence.
“Think of your poor father, who is so proud of you; think of Frances,
who is devoted to you--and to me. Think of my poor little Cara, that I
would be deserting for ever.”
“It is too late to talk of these things now, Letty,” he answered
inflexibly. “How can you suggest returning to a fellow that deserts
you, and treats you brutally and cruelly; a man that you regard with
shuddering repulsion?” He was resolved to hit hard.
“Oh, Lancelot, don’t!” wincing and turning away; “if you only knew.
I’d go with you to the world’s end--I would--but for the child. Yes;
in spite of your father’s grey hairs, and your sister’s confidence and
affection; but there is something that I cannot explain, and that you
would not understand; it is the _mother_ in me, that is drawing me
back--yes, and I am going.”
“No!” said Lumley suddenly, walking across the room, and placing his
back against the door. “You don’t leave London to-night--talk of
madness--that would be madness indeed!”
His face looked stern and very pale; he had braced himself as for a
life and death struggle.
“Yes, I will prevent you, and by all means in my power, short of force.
_I_ know what is best for you; I am not thinking of myself,--but of
you, now. You know I love you too well, Letty, to do anything that
would harm you--but to allow you to escape to that life of misery,
would be a crime. A crime, against your youth and your happiness;
you talk of Cara, what is she but a baby of three, and you are
one-and-twenty? Why is she to devour the whole of your future? She is
pretty, she is a rich man’s daughter, as far as I could judge, has a
strong will; the world will go well with _her_. Suppose you sacrifice
yourself, will she give up her best years to you, and are _you_ to have
no life of your own? As it is, you are like some beautiful flower that
has been kept in a dark room till its colour has been bleached, and its
vitality is perishing. If this existence continues, what will you be in
twenty years?”
“_Dead_, I hope,” she answered sharply, then with a flash of unexpected
passion, “but dead or alive, I am going to stick to Cara.”
“No you are not,” he rejoined with gathering excitement. “You are going
to stick to _me_, and till death us do part.” Visibly shaken by the
force of his own speech, he added hoarsely: “Letty, you have escaped
from bondage, be thankful for your freedom!”
“It is for you, Lancelot, to release me,” she declared, “and help me to
escape from here; from a situation that will bring disgrace on me--and
mine.”
“Do you mean that?” he demanded fiercely, leaving his post, and coming
a step nearer.
“Yes, I do,” she assented with a set wooden face,--the face of a woman
of double her age. “Lancelot, let me pass. If you stand in my way, and
prevent my returning home I--I--swear I will never forgive you.”
“If I had stood in your way four years ago, as I ought to have done--my
home would be yours. If I let you pass _now_, I know, that I shall
never set eyes on you again.”
His handsome tanned face had taken a curious clay-coloured shade;
little drops of sweat stood on his forehead.
“Think again, for God’s sake!” His voice rose, vibrating with passion.
“Have mercy on yourself.”
“Myself! No; _I_ don’t count!”
“Nor I? Letty, has it occurred to you, what an awful fool you have made
of me?”
It was true; she had sacrificed him as pitilessly as herself--this only
struck her now. For her sake Lancelot had given up his regiment, thrown
his prospects to the winds, risked the loss of his friends.
“I know,” she stammered at last, “I have cost you a great deal--far,
far, too much. Lancelot, I’m not _worth_ it! I am a miserable,
cowardly, half-hearted creature--and now--let me go--oh _do_--I implore
you, let me go!”
As they stood staring into one another’s eyes, a languid gilt clock on
the mantel-piece, struck eight.
Lumley started, their discussion had absorbed more time than seemed
possible--he moved aside and said in a muffled tone, “Well--if you
must--you must!”
Letty came closer to him--his drawn stricken face affected her
profoundly. She seized his hand in both of hers, and suddenly broke
down.
“Good-bye, Lancelot; good-bye,” she sobbed hysterically. “I know you
will despise me, and forget me; but as long as I live I shall love you,
better than anyone in the whole world--better than Cara. But my duty is
to her; if I went with you, I should always, always, be looking back.”
“Poor Letty, I’ll try, and forgive you,” he answered huskily; “but from
the bottom of my heart, I believe you are spoiling two lives; and the
day may come, when you will find it hard to forgive yourself,” and with
a violent wrench he opened the door.
It was a strangely pale and agitated couple who descended into the
great hall, and a few minutes later drove away to the station: a waiter
going into the empty room, found too late, that the lady had forgotten
a very damp pocket-handkerchief, and a handsome umbrella with a gold
handle, on which was inscribed, “Mrs. Blagdon, Sharsley Court.”
On their way down Piccadilly Captain Lumley and his companion
encountered a steady stream of hansoms carrying their gay fares to
dinners or the theatres. The two, who held one another’s hands in
agonised silence, seemed to be journeying away from life, and all its
joys, and facing together--a dark and hopeless future.
As soon as Letty had secured her ticket she said:
“We will say good-bye now, Lancelot--please don’t come on the platform.
You know this is the fast train--and I may meet neighbours.”
And there, under the flaming lamps, in the ugly, bare booking-office,
came to these, who were so much to one another, that transcendent
moment of a miserable and silent farewell. As Letty looked up into her
lover’s face, her heart felt a piercing stab; she had once encountered
a poor lost dog, with the self-same expression in its eyes.
A moment later, she was hurrying along the platform, asking for the
train to Ridgefield.
“Sorry, miss,” replied an official, “but you’ve just missed her,”
indicating a round red light that was vanishing into a tunnel; and the
runaway had lost her only opportunity of returning home that night!
This discovery was a shock: she felt vanquished--and half distracted,
but recovering her courage, and summoning her wits to her assistance,
she made over her luggage to a porter, and departed in quest of a
bedroom in the Terminus Hotel.