Mr. Blagdon was a late riser; on this particular morning it was eleven
o’clock as he stood lathering his great sensual face, in front of a
shaving-glass. The operation was but half completed, when his valet
entered, and, clearing his throat, said:
“Beg pardon, sir, but Mrs. Blagdon has just arrived and is asking to
see you.”
Blagdon’s somewhat shaky hand slipped, and gave his chin a gash.
When he had carefully plastered it up, he turned to the man, with an
alarming scowl.
“Jenkins didn’t let her in, did he?”
“Yes, sir, he did. She’s in the morning-room.”
“That’ll do!” said his master in a voice of thunder, and he continued
his toilet with a determination that he would sack Jenkins instantly,
and turn his wife out of the house. But before taking these drastic
steps, he must breakfast. He went heavily downstairs, unfolding a
large scented pocket-handkerchief, and stalked into the dining-room;
here he was served with devilled kidneys, dry toast, and two strong
whiskies and sodas. Thus fortified, he approached with loud, resonant
footsteps, the morning-room, where the culprit awaited him in shivering
expectation: and flinging the door wide, entered like an avenging fate.
“Well, ma’am, I shall be glad to know what the devil brings _you_
here?” he demanded. “The servants had orders not to admit you. Old
Jenkins shall be kicked out to-morrow!”
“Hugo,” she said, rising, and vainly endeavouring to steady her voice,
“of course, I know that after the letter, which no doubt you have read,
my coming back like this must seem astonishing.”
“Outrageous! Scandalous!” he burst in. “Why, it’s absolutely
_shameless_!”
“But the truth is, before I got half-way to London I had changed my
mind. I found that I couldn’t leave Cara, and so when I met Captain
Lumley I told him this, and in spite of all he could urge, I refused
to take the final step. We remained talking together too long, and I
just missed the last train--the mail. I had said good-bye to him before
that, and I went to the station hotel and spent the night there, and
came on the first thing this morning. Hugo, I swear to you that I am
speaking the truth.”
“What a fine cock-and-bull story!” he answered, with a sneer. “We have
heard of people missing their trains before. I’m surprised that you and
Lumley between you, couldn’t think of something a little _fresher_!”
“But you believe me, Hugo?” she implored, “and I may come back?”
“No, I’m damned if you shall! Come back, indeed! I got your letter
yesterday, and telegraphed at once to my lawyer. You shall be, as you
said yourself, dead to me,--and I shall be dead to you. I am not
likely to put up with a woman who informs me she is going off with
a lover--and no doubt has a row with him, finds she hasn’t bettered
herself,--and turns up at home the next day. By Jove, no!”
“But where am I to go?” she asked piteously. “What am I to do? I swear
to you, that I am as innocent as Cara herself--at least, you will let
me see her?”
“Not I! And now, madam, we have had enough of this,” and, taking her
roughly by the arm, he led her from the anteroom, out into the great
hall,--the door of which happened to be open. Without a word he pushed
her violently across the threshold, and slammed the door upon her.
The fly and luggage had disappeared, there was no one in sight, as the
ejected wife went slowly down the steps, and slowly down the avenue,
as if she were walking in her sleep; this unexpected blow had been so
staggering, that it momentarily stunned her.
Meanwhile Blagdon, with his hands in his pockets, stood in the window
of the hall, which commanded a full view of the short entrance drive,
his eyes fixed on the receding figure. When he saw her approach and
pass through the great gates, making her final and ignominious exit, he
muttered under his breath, “She’s _gone_!” and then he went back to the
smoking-room, selected one of his best cigars, and sat down to meditate
upon his future plans.
Frances Lumley, who happened to be crossing the village square, halted
when she beheld her friend. What had happened? Why this white, stricken
face? She held out her hand, and enquired:
“Is anything the matter?”
For a moment the unhappy girl seemed to choke; then--she stammered:
“Yes--Hugo has just turned me out of the house.”
“Turned you out! Oh, my poor Letty! Then you will come home with me, of
course?” And as she spoke, she took her arm.
It was but a few yards to the Rectory, and as they walked up the
avenue, Letty halted abruptly, and said:
“I don’t think I should come _here_,” releasing her friend, and
supporting herself by a railing that bordered the drive.
“Nonsense!”
“But, Frances, you don’t know. It was because of your brother
that--that--Hugo has cast me off.”
“Because of _Lancelot_!” exclaimed Miss Lumley, suddenly disconcerted;
her colour rose, her eyes dilated.
“Yes,” said Letty, and then--she added, in short, gasping sentences:
“I ran away to him yesterday to London--but I changed my mind. I could
not desert Cara.--I came back. Hugo had returned suddenly, and read my
letter, and took me by the shoulders, thrust me out, and slammed the
door on me. I feel sure he will try and divorce me!”
Frances’ clear mind grasped a subject quickly. What a disastrous
affair for Lancelot! What was to be done? Obviously the first step was
to take Letty into the house--she looked ghastly.
“Brother or no brother,” she said--stifling her own dismay--“you must
come and stay with us, and pull yourself together. Matters may not be
as bad as you think.”
“They are--and it’s all my fault. I have ruined your brother, and
disgraced myself, and Cara!”
This speech brought her into the Rectory door, which stood wide, and
she tottered into a chair in the hall, and fainted away.
As soon as the refugee had been restored and put to bed in the spare
room, Frances, a woman of action, wrote off to Mrs. Hesketh and to her
brother, and despatched a note to Bates at the Court with a request for
Mrs. Blagdon’s luggage. Then she proceeded to explain matters to her
invalid father, who was enchanted to hear that Mrs. Blagdon was staying
with them--though he could not quite understand how it was, that she
should be in his house and not her own; but his resourceful daughter
satisfied his curiosity, and told a lie, with the one simple word
‘Drains!’
Exhausted by bodily fatigue and mental emotion, Letty slept soundly
till the church clock, striking nine, roused her from a sleep, that had
bordered upon stupor. Where was she? asked recovering consciousness.
The scene was strange, and beautiful--a wide-open window, the perfume
of flowers, above, in the summer sky, a slim young moon. Was she dead,
and was this house Heaven? Suddenly, with a torrential rush, black
memory overwhelmed her.
During the next twenty-four hours, Frances Lumley was all that a
sister, and more than some sisters would be, to the unhappy refugee.
She consoled, soothed, cheered her,--keeping her own tremors respecting
Lancelot entirely out of sight. Then Mrs. Hesketh appeared upon the
scene, and carried her friend away to Oldcourt. Francie Lumley was
a dear girl, with a heart of gold, but it was not seemly that Mrs.
Blagdon should be her guest, with the case of Blagdon _v._ Blagdon and
Lumley, imminent in the Law Courts.
It soon became noised abroad that Blagdon was about to divorce his
wife, and mothers with daughters, once more began to cast expectant
eyes on Sharsley.