The case of Blagdon _v._ Blagdon and Lumley divided the County into
factions and separated chief friends. Some said, that _now_ they
thoroughly understood why Blagdon was reluctant to produce his wife in
Society; obviously she was mentally unsound--a woman who ran away, and
returned to him the next day! She had been a shy, odd creature from
the first. The opposition were violent partisans, and declared that a
girl so young, pretty, and innocent, had been driven to desperation by
the brutality of her monster of a husband. It was a curious but not
uncommon circumstance, that most of the women took the part of the man;
whilst the men-folk, and in great numbers, were solid for the lady.
Letty’s few relatives lived in Ireland, and were not a little shocked
to learn of her being mixed up in a scandal. They hid the paper from
their friends, and discussed their black sheep in horrified whispers.
The character of Mr. Blagdon had not been wafted across the Irish sea.
When the newly married couple were in London, one or two of the Irish
clan had attempted to make their cousin’s acquaintance--not because she
had made a great match, but that it was an opportunity of seeing poor
Dermot’s daughter, and blood is thicker than water. However, their
civil advances were rudely repulsed by Hugo (who hated the Irish as
a nation) and did not want to be bothered with a pack of his wife’s
relatives; and they merely saw a heavy-browed, formidable personage,
and a pretty, shy girl with stiff manners. And now this pretty, shy
girl had come to grief--wealth and importance had turned her silly
little head. It was a pity!
The Blagdon-Lumley case, was entirely circumstantial, and the chain of
evidence complete; the petitioner, a wealthy man; no enterprising legal
firm came forward as a speculation to take up the co-respondent’s side,
and the suit was undefended. Lumley had again repaired to Mr. Ross
(Ross, Carbery & Co.), and told a plain, unvarnished tale, assuring
them of the lady’s innocence on his solemn word of honour. The firm
listened with agreeable sympathy, but declared, that there was nothing
to be done, but face the consequences of an act of folly. Mrs. Blagdon
had run away from her husband, leaving a letter of confession; she
had joined their client in London openly, and left the hotel in his
company. It was true, that she had repented, and next day presented
herself at home in the character of a reformed wife; but it wouldn’t
do--no, it would _not_ do.
“I understand, that she is extraordinarily good-looking,” added Mr.
Ross, “and that might give her a chance with the jury; but if you will
take my advice, Captain Lumley, and speaking in the character of a
friend, you will not attempt to defend the case. The less mud-throwing
the better--all can be arranged between Mr. Blagdon’s lawyers and
ourselves; at the end of six months there will be the usual decree, and
I take it for granted, that you will marry the lady?”
But, as it happened, the lady absolutely refused to marry Lumley. For
some time she had been in a state of collapse, under the roof and the
care of her friend at Oldcourt. She seemed to be in a dazed condition,
her recent experience appeared to have exercised an almost paralysing
effect on her thinking faculties, and when she recovered, and was
informed that the trial was over, that Hugo had generously settled five
hundred a year upon her, and she was free to marry again; she assured
Maude Hesketh and Mrs. Denton that nothing in the world would induce
her to do so. No arguments affected her, and she positively declined to
see Lancelot Lumley.
“I have done him enough harm as it is,” she pleaded, “and I only hope
he may forget me.”
So Captain Lumley went out to his new regiment, which was quartered in
Peshawur, with an empty pocket, a sore heart, and a somewhat damaged
reputation.
It is perhaps needless to mention, that Mrs. Fenchurch did not spare
the culprit when she came to Oldcourt to visit and upbraid her. Letty
sat listening and gazing in helpless silence, whilst her aunt had her
‘_say_.’ After a vigorous arraignment of her conduct, and her shameful
abandonment of a splendid position, she concluded:
“I merely came to tell you, that I wash my hands of you, Letty, and I
am thankful that my poor dear husband did not live to see this day.
I have one piece of advice to give you, and that is, that you marry
Captain Lumley. I believe he is ready to make you his wife--go out to
him in India, and remain there. I understand that as Society in the
East is only _too_ well accustomed to scandals and divorces, you will
probably be received, and enabled to make a fresh start. Thanks to
Hugo’s generosity, and with a captain’s Indian pay, you will be quite
comfortably off.”
To all this advice the inquisitor received no reply, and rising
red-faced from her seat, she added angrily:
“I see it’s no use talking to you for your good. You are in one of your
tempers. I _had_ intended offering you your uncle’s P. & O. trunks; but
I shall do _nothing_ further--good-bye!”
To the friendless divorcée, Cousin Maude played the part of a good and
rich Samaritan. As it was winter time she took her to the Riviera,
but Letty still exhibited a lack of energy and indifference to her
surroundings, which was disheartening to her companion; however, by
degrees, sunshine, peace, and youth had their effect, and, as a crushed
flower in water, she revived. Her beauty and grace were remarkable. She
had at last ‘come into her own,’ and was now a lovely girl--no longer
the pallid, cowed bride of four years previously. Since then, she had
experienced matrimony, misery, love--real love--and disgrace; also the
tardy realisation of her own endowment.
If in former days, Blagdon was bitterly disappointed by his wife’s
insignificance, Mrs. Hesketh was now proportionately amazed at her
success; by the many staring eyes that followed her companion, the
éclat, the sensation she created was quite remarkable--the girl was
much too conspicuous for a divorcée in retreat.
Kind, generous Maude Hesketh, though sincerely attached to her
protégée, was not without certain human weaknesses. She was inclined to
be pessimistic, analytical, inquisitive, and occasionally a _little_
irritable. In her secret heart she felt both sore and envious; she
had been a notable beauty in her time, and although she had never
encouraged admirers, yet was keenly alive to the homage of their eyes.
To-day, all these looks and whispers were for another; whilst she was
merely a well-preserved, elderly woman, to whom no one threw a second
glance. She had accepted admiration as her right, and she now felt as
if she had lost her youth for a second time!
For good and sundry reasons, the two ladies kept themselves in strict
seclusion; they occupied a private sitting-room, and went out in a
private carriage with a pair of capital horses. Now and then Mrs.
Hesketh came across acquaintances, who glanced interrogatively at her
graceful companion. As a rule she made no introductions, but when these
could not possibly be avoided, she murmured the name of “Mrs. Glyn.”
Among the other guests at the “Calafornie,” Cannes, was a certain
needy, worldly widow, Mrs. Plassy--Mrs. Bolingbroke-Plassy with a
lively daughter of two-and-twenty.
This widow, made valiant attempts to attach herself to Mrs.
Hesketh,--who was notoriously rich, had the air of a duchess, and a
charming landau at her disposal; it was also known to her, that the
most distinguished people in Cannes had left cards upon this lady.
But Mrs. Hesketh--who could play the _grande dame_ to perfection,
had ‘no use’ for Mrs. Plassy, mistrusted her worming civilities, her
subdued flatteries, and kept her inflexibly at arm’s length. The pretty
companion was more approachable (Letty could never repulse a dog, much
less a fellow-creature), and she and Miss Plassy, drawn together by
their youth, and tastes, played tennis, and sang duets. The innocent
soprano little suspected how deeply and sincerely she was hated by
the contralto; she thought Lydia a pleasant, lively, unaffected girl,
and if her mother _was_, as Cousin Maude declared, an inquisitive,
marauding ‘old soldier,’ what harm did it do to anyone?
‘The old soldier’ had deeply resented Mrs. Hesketh’s uncompromising
repulse; her animosity was kindled, and she instituted searching
enquiries into the lady’s career,--which proved to be blameless; but,
to her amazement, pretty, shrinking Mrs. Glyn, had a very black record!
The fact leaked out--through a treacherous lady’s-maid--that this
pretty girl was no less a person than the notorious and divorced Mrs.
Blagdon! Fortunately the friends, were on the point of departure for
San Remo, for Mrs. Plassy mentioned the discovery, as a dead secret,
to every woman of her acquaintance in the hotel,--and they all held up
their hands in speechless horror.
* * * * *
At the end of six months Mrs. Hesketh returned home, and by that time
the great local scandal had been succeeded by others, and was more or
less forgotten. Mr. Blagdon was said to be in America; Captain Lumley
was in India; no one knew the whereabouts of the lady. She was living
quietly in a country town thirty miles south of London, occasionally
spending a few days at Oldcourt, but, on the whole, alone. To occupy
her time she had taken up music, and worked hard; practising with a
view to becoming a professional singer. As Mrs. Glyn, a solitary,
pretty young woman, she made no acquaintances, with the exception of
two or three elderly women in the same hotel, who regarded her as an
interesting mystery; she could not be a widow, since she wore no scrap
of mourning--presumably she had a husband,--but where? She kept herself
conspicuously aloof from other people,--and why?
All the time, this much-discussed, unhappy stranger, was filled with a
simple human craving to see her child again--to hold her in her arms.
To have her with her, had become a sort of obsession. At night as she
lay awake and weeping, she seemed to hear her forsaken baby, forlorn
and helpless, crying to her across the darkness. She had sacrificed
_all_ for Cara--and lost her!