“So she has known for a whole fortnight and kept it to herself,” said
Mrs. Hesketh with luminous eyes. “I had no idea that Cara was capable
of such amazing self-control. This accounts for her inexplicable
silence, sullenness, and studied insolence to _me_.”
“Of course, the information was startling,” pleaded Letty. “Her whole
little world turned upside down; the child has taken the news amazingly
well, and is so sweet and affectionate. This morning she asked me to
tell you that she is very sorry and ashamed of her rudeness to you, and
intends to turn over a new leaf.”
“I am not sure that I have much faith in these new leaves,” rejoined
Mrs. Hesketh ungraciously; “but I am prepared to accept the olive
branch. You say the girl is sitting at home sewing, whilst you are
abroad? You appear to have changed places.”
“Only for once. It was so important that I should see you. Now Cara has
been enlightened, perhaps it is for the best--it _had_ to come some
day.”
“And malicious Miss Plassy has spared no details--you have no _further_
disclosures to fear. Bring Cara to dinner to-night, I should like to
have a talk with her, and we will smoke the pipe of peace.”
For the next ten days all went smoothly. Cara no longer yearned for
solitary excursions into Lucerne; on the contrary, she appeared to
be glad of her mother’s companionship, and had figuratively attached
herself to her apron string!
Meanwhile, arrangements for a move were in progress. Mrs. Hesketh
had written home, announcing the arrival of two friends, ordering
alterations in the house, and entering into treaty for a new motor.
A whole month had passed, and there had been no reply to Cara’s filial
appeal--an appeal which had cost hours of thought, and been written
and rewritten again and again. Her heart and her hopes sank; this
condition was salutary, the girl--like all bullies--was absurdly
elated by success, whilst failure bowed her to the earth. In despair
of her father’s favour and rescue, she now turned to her mother, whom
she contemplated by the light of her illuminating story. She dwelt on
that passionately pleading figure, that ringing voice, those piteous
eyes, and appealing hands; and could not but believe that every word
she uttered was _true_. Her father’s silence was ample proof of his
unnatural character; he must be a brute! And she herself had witnessed
one of the principal scenes in her mother’s history. That afternoon
on the _Schiller_, when they had met the handsome English officer,
who implored her mother to agree to something, and her mother had not
consented; now she learnt that he had asked her to marry him, and
leave her, Cara, at school--and the Mum had refused. She recalled his
urgent air, and her mother’s tears. It was evident that she cared for
him--and no wonder! Had she been in her mother’s place, his offer
would have been accepted--_bien sur!_ And the Mum was so pretty--no
matter how shabby or simple her clothes, she always looked well-born--a
lady to the tips of her fingers. Everything she accomplished was so
neat, so finished: her room and belongings so orderly; such a contrast
to her own apartment, which was always untidy; she never could find
anything, and flung away hats, stepped out of skirts, kicked off
shoes, and left the Mum to clear up, and put her things straight. She
seemed at last to realise, what her mother stood for in her life, and
became thoughtful, helpful, and affectionate. She ran errands, carried
parcels, and was altogether another and softer Cara. These were indeed
halcyon days for Letty! She brought her good news to the bedside of her
friend, who was confined to her room with a serious bronchial attack.
“The child is so changed,” she said, “so warm-hearted, loving, and
confidential. She has confessed _everything_ to me; all about those
odious men, and how they taught her to smoke, and supplied her
with cigarettes and chocolates, and took her trips in motor-boats.
She declares she only went with them for the fun of the thing, the
thrilling excitement of adventure, and possible discovery! She will
never deceive me again as long as she lives--we are to have _no_
secrets from one another.”
Here Mrs. Hesketh murmured something inarticulate into the down quilt,
and her visitor continued:
“And she is so interested in Sharsley, and asks me to tell her all
about the place, and about Thornby and Oldcourt. Oh, Cousin Maude,” and
she sank on her knees by the bed, and took her hand in hers, “I am so
happy at last! I am well repaid for my strivings. Cara and I are now
all in all to one another.”
During this interview, Cara had been waiting for her mother in the
lounge--she was now full of these touching little attentions. As she
waited one of her English acquaintances happened to enter, paused, and
bowed with ironical ceremony. Then he approached, and said in a jocular
key:
“Hullo, Goldylocks! what are you doing here? Why so proud?”
Goldylocks raised her eyes, stared at him fiercely, and resumed her
study of a picture paper; and after a momentary hesitation, Captain
Seymour felt compelled to pass on. Cara had done with these odious
free-and-easy men, who joked with her, flattered her, and then talked
her over, and laughed at her behind her back. That thought acted as a
lash, and kept Miss Blagdon’s exuberant impulses in check.
Presently her mother reappeared, and as they climbed the hill together,
arm in arm, she said:
“Cousin Maude is so much better, the doctor thinks she may move in ten
days, and we will travel with her. You know the school idea has been
abandoned, and you can easily keep up your music, and French with me. I
do hope you won’t find Thornby too dull; there is no one in the village
now, except the Dentons.”
“And your aunt--the hunting lady?”
“No; she lives in Brighton, I am thankful to say, but the poor old Holt
is closed. Cara,” and her mother halted on the little plateau, “Mrs.
Hesketh has been frightening me. She asks, if your father claimed you,
what would you do?”
“Why _you_ know, Mummy,” throwing her arm round her waist, “I’ll never,
never leave you!” and she covered her face with kisses.
“If you had been a boy, darling, of course I’d never, never have dared
to carry you off; but I wanted you so badly, and he did not; you were
left alone with your nurse in a corner of that great big house, your
father ignored you; he dislikes girls--even grown-up girls.”
“Yet he married a girl, Mummy. Why you were only my age--seventeen!”
“Yes, dear, but your father soon got tired of me. At seventeen, I
was years younger than you are; I was painfully timid, silly, and
undecided--and----”
“You are undecided still; but there is no one in all the whole world,
as clever and good, as my own beautiful Mum,” and Cara bent her fair
head, and kissed her mother on the lips.
* * * * *
Hugo Blagdon was now a stout, irascible, red-faced man of fifty-seven,
who for the sake of his health was every year compelled to take ‘a
cure’ at Carlsbad, and here Cara’s letters followed, and found him.
As he casually opened number one, then glanced at the signature, his
complexion changed from red to purple.
“What the devil does this mean?” he muttered.
He was soon in possession of full information. In Cara’s fine bold
hand, she assured him that only within the last twenty-four hours she
had learnt her own and her mother’s story, and that her father was
still living. She went on to say, that she was weary of exile, had a
craving to see her native land, and _him_; described herself as tall
and fair, very fond of outdoor sports, and games, and hoped that he
would soon write to her, send for her, and allow her to know him, and
remained his affectionate daughter, Caroline Blagdon. ‘P.S.--Please
address Miss Glyn, Poste Restante, Mitzau. I am sending you my
photograph.’
“By George!” he exclaimed when he came to the end of her epistle, “a
grown-up daughter, and she writes with spirit; no milk and water about
_her_!” Yes, and here was her photograph. It was many years since
he had experienced such a thrill of expectation, as when he cut the
string, and uncovered a cabinet-sized photograph which displayed a
handsome girl, with a resolute jaw, broad shoulders, and large hands.
It must be confessed, that the likeness did not do justice to the
sitter’s best points--her hair, complexion, and teeth.
“Not bad-looking,” was her father’s verdict. After gazing at it for a
long time, studying the dress and details, he put both letter and photo
into his breast coat pocket, and went off to his bath.
No need to do anything in a hurry; letter-writing was the mischief,
and dangerous. He would take his time,--and he did. Several anxious
epistles from Les Plans remained unnoticed, and hence his daughter’s
despair. It was evident that there was nothing before her, but the
prospect of a dull life in an English village, and she decided to make
the best of circumstances.
Her father, meanwhile, had resolved to motor to Lucerne for his ‘after
cure,’ but not commit himself in any way. He would first look round
cautiously, and see how the land lay.
Hugo Blagdon in his magnificent car arrived early in September, and put
up at the National. After an excellent lunch--concluded with coffee
and liqueur--he strolled forth on the Quai, and stared frowningly on
the lovely scene; the mountains and hills of all shades of blue, the
lake gay with traffic; finally he went into the Casino gardens and
bestowed his heavy form upon a seat. The band was playing, and the
place was crowded. He debated with himself the question of a bock--yes
or no--the verdict was ‘no’: he had recently lost ten pounds in weight
and must keep himself down. Bye and by, among the crowd, he was glad to
recognise a racing acquaintance, and signalled to him to join him at
his little table.
As they sat, discussing jockeys, weights, and other matters, the man
said:
“This is a great season, I have never seen the place so full, nor so
many pretty frocks, and faces. Hullo--look there!”
Two ladies were crossing the gardens, both tall and both wearing summer
hats, and white gowns; their air and good looks distinguished them from
the crowd.
For a moment Blagdon stared with stolid incredulity, then he hastily
put down his cigar, for he had recognised Letty! A beautiful,
self-possessed Letty, with an air of fragile grace, who, although
laden with several parcels, carried herself like a queen; the girl, of
bigger build, with clouds of hair and marvellous colouring, was his
correspondent Cara,--she looked every day of twenty!
He was actually gazing at his own wife and daughter--so were others;
the pair had been accosted by friends, and stopped to talk, and this
afforded the spectators an opportunity to admire.
“By Jove, Englishwomen are hard to beat! I bet those two are English,”
said his companion. “The elder is the best looking--a handsome woman.
The young one seems full of go, and what teeth and colouring! But she
hasn’t her sister’s figure.”
Here indeed was an entirely different individual to the cowering
Letty of fourteen years previously, and how well she had worn! Now
she would shine in any company--his wife--yes, and his daughter. She,
too, was ripping: so sure of herself; he watched her gay gestures and
broad smiles, her well-cut frock, and neat figure--rather on the heavy
side. What a complexion! By George, she’d make ’em all sit up! Yes,
he decided to claim her--a handsome wife was one thing: a handsome
daughter, reflected still more credit on a fellow.
Cara was a Blagdon--his own flesh and blood, and he was sick of his old
associates.
“I say, Blagdon, you are not very gay; the after cure depressing? Eh?”
“No, I’m all right,” with a shake of his great shoulders. “I’m just
thinking of a good thing I’ve come in for.”
Repton stared. Was old Blag off his chump? had he been drinking?
“Oh, it’s only a filly of mine, a rare one, that will show ’em all the
way,” and he chuckled to himself.
“Ah, then, I’ll look to you for a tip!”
Blagdon noted the break-up of the party, which concluded with cordial
hand-shaking, and adieux. Subsequently mother and daughter walked
away talking together eagerly--evidently the best of pals. He rose
instantly, followed, and kept them in view. In the Swan Platz, opposite
Cook’s, the two separated; Letty to cross the bridge, the girl to
enter the Arcade: here he saw her disappear into a shop, and waited.
As he waited, he meditated; he was full of impatience to claim this
creditable daughter; in face her mother, in manner and figure a
Blagdon. What--cold thought--would Connie say?--Con, more or less lived
with, as well as on him. She had the Blagdon will, tongue, and temper.
Well, from the girl’s air and off-hand manner, he expected she could
hold her own; and by George, he had done a lot for Con, from first to
last, and paid her debts over and over. It was time he did something
for his only daughter,--who had not cost him a farthing since she cut
her first teeth. As he conferred with himself, the girl came briskly
out of the shop. He had been pretending to be looking into the window,
and at once accosted her.
“I say,” he began, staring hard into her face, “aren’t
you--er--Caroline--Blagdon?”
She stood stock still, and surveyed him with startled eyes, and a
heightened colour.
Could this heavy, elderly man, with a large, reddish face, be her
father? Why Kaspar at the landing-stage looked more distinguished. Of
course his clothes and voice were all right--but----
She nodded curtly.
“I got your letters,” he resumed, “and as I was in Germany motoring, I
thought I’d come on here and look you up. Seeing is believing. I’m your
father, you know.”
“Yes--are you?”
“I say, let’s walk about a bit, where we can talk. Where’s your mother?
I bar meeting her.”
“She has gone across the bridge to say good-bye to some friends; we are
leaving next week. She won’t be back for an hour. I’m to meet her at
the five o’clock boat.”
“Oh, so then we have a clear hour! Come along to the National.”
For a perceptible pause Cara’s hesitation was obvious: she neither
spoke nor stirred--and her reluctance enormously enhanced her value in
her father’s eyes.--However, as she said to herself, she might as well
hear, what he had to propose--no harm--in that!
As they strolled together past the shops, Blagdon was gratified to note
how many eyes were bent on his companion. This was the sort of girl
that appealed to him; she was well turned out, too, and walked as if
the whole earth belonged to her.
“Lived here always?” he asked abruptly.
“Yes, since I was four. Now I’m seventeen.”
“And look every day of twenty or more,” he exclaimed with habitual
brusquerie.
“Do I? And you,” considering him with cold, undaunted eyes, “I suppose
are sixty--or more?”
Blagdon’s face assumed a deeper hue. His neck appeared to swell, an
apoplectic seizure seemed imminent; he was not accustomed to be thus
bearded.
However, for once, with a violent effort, he restrained himself, and
answered:
“A fellow’s the age he feels--a woman the age she looks.”
“That’s rubbish!” declared his bold companion, “and was certainly
invented by a _man_!”
“I say, young lady, you seem to have a fairly sharp tongue!”
“A sharp tongue and a sweet temper,” she retorted.
It was evident to her electrified and humbled parent, that the girl
did not care a brass farthing whether he reinstated her or not! The
saucy young woman was entirely independent, and made no secret of her
attitude. The chances were, that if she had been appealing, eager, and
slavish, he would not have been so anxious to claim her--but Cara had
taken her father’s measure, with a very sure eye.
“Well, here we are,” he continued, leading the way up the steps; “come
into the lounge, and let’s get to know one another. I saw you and your
mother together just now--you seem to be tremendous pals.”
“So we are,” said Cara, as she threw herself carelessly into a
comfortable chair. “My mother has been awfully good to me.”
“Eh? Well, at any rate, she ran away with you, and now,” coming and
standing directly before her, “what do you say to giving _me_ a turn?”
“What do you call a turn?” she enquired, looking back into his eyes,
with a true family stare; the girl had a spice of the devil in her,
that was certain.
“You will live with me in Hill Street,” he announced pompously; and
seeing that this fact made no impression, “have a motor, and a maid.”
“Yes?” The ‘yes’ was cool and indifferent.
“As many frocks and gewgaws as you want, and theatres and dances--those
are not in _my_ line. I’ll take you racing; I’ve a string of horses in
training.”
“I love racing,” she admitted. “I’ve only seen races once, and that was
here.”
“Bah!” with a gesture of contempt, “a set of platers! And so you are on
the move at last?”
“Yes; we are going to live with Mrs. Hesketh.”
“That old beldame! Well, you can choose between Thornby and Sharsley.
I won’t have any half measures--you understand that?”
“Am I to be mistress of the house?” she asked hardily. “I have an aunt,
I believe?”
“You have very much an aunt--she’d make _two_--but she will move into
her own flat. You look as if you could hold your own, and sit at the
head of a table, and square on a horse.”
“I daresay I can soon learn English ways, and I’m sure I could
ride--but I don’t like leaving mother.”
“I daresay not! You don’t know what is good for you--and you can’t well
bring her along, can you? It must be one of us, or the other--Glyn or
Blagdon!”
“Yes, I know,” and Cara rose, and walked slowly over to the window, and
looked out. She was weighing the vital question, ‘father or mother’?
As she stood irresolute, her eyes fell upon a splendid motor drawn up
below the hotel--_le dernier mot_ of luxury, and extravagance.
“That’s my car,” announced her father, who had followed, and was now
looking over her shoulder. “If you decide on _me_, we will go off this
evening, and I must give the chauffeur instructions about getting to
Dover. You and I will go straight to Paris, and there you can rig
yourself out before we go home--and the sooner we make a start the
better.”
“Do you really mean, that we are to leave here to-day?” stammered Cara;
who had been thinking of debating the matter, and making up her mind,
at leisure.
“Oh, yes--it’s now or never.”
Cara turned pale and then red.
“I want to get back for the Leger; you can settle into Hill Street.”
Noticing her change of colour, he became more urgent. “Your
grandmother’s lot will take you up--the old Scropes are tremendous
swells, and your cousins the Calthorpes and Montfords will trot you out
and present you at Court, and all that sort of thing--balls, and so on.
Of course, you are a bit young; but, as I tell you, you _look_ old--old
enough to sport the Blagdon diamonds; and the family diamonds are quite
top-hole! There isn’t a finer show in any opera-house.”
Presentations at Court, diamonds, French frocks, balls, races, the
command of a large establishment--Cara felt that her head was swimming!
What were her mother and Oldcourt in comparison to such dazzling
temptations? Of course, she was behaving badly; but in this world
everyone must play for their own hand. The Mum had made terrible
mistakes, and ‘revoked,’ so to speak. Because she had spoiled her life,
why should she, Cara, do likewise? She felt confident, that she could
get on all right with this burly, rough sort of father, and was not the
least afraid of him.
“Yes, by Jove, you and I will make a bolt; give your mother the slip,
and pay her out in her own coin, ha! ha! She’s given to running away.”
“If I come to live with you, you must never say a word against the
Mum.”
“The word ‘_must_’ is never to be used to me,” he answered savagely.
“But why not?” demanded Cara, looking up at him with twinkling eyes,
and an enchanting smile.
What cheek she had! and what teeth! Absolutely perfect. Slightly
mollified, he resumed:
“If you are a good girl, I think we shall pull along together
all right, and I’ll say this for your mother, she had a snaffle
mouth,--though she _did_ bolt. Of course, you are inexperienced in
English customs and housekeeping, but you have the cut of a girl who
will soon know the ropes.”
“If I go with you to-day, what am I to do for clothes? All my things
are up at Les Plans.”
“I can lend you a motor-coat to travel in, and you will be in Paris in
the early morning. We’ll start at six, and dine on the train.”
“Very well,” she said gravely; “so be it.”
“All right, that’s settled, Cara,” and he gripped her hand with a
gesture of possession. “Give me a kiss on the bargain!”
She glanced round apprehensively--they were alone in the lounge, then
offered her square jaw, to his lips.
“By Jove, I’m glad to have you, my girl!” he said with hearty
satisfaction. “When a man is getting on a bit, he feels the want of
someone about him--someone _belonging_ to him--and that he--er--can be
proud of.”
As Cara and her father stood side by side, the five o’clock boat moved
slowly from her moorings, and came out into the lake, exactly opposite
to where they were stationed.
“It’s the _Stadthof_. There goes mother!” said Cara with a slight catch
in her breath, “wondering what has become of me; that is her I am
sure--the figure at the end. She expects to see me tearing along the
Quai. Don’t you see the lady with the blue sunshade--looking back?”
“No, my sight is not as young as yours,” he answered gruffly. “She may
look and look, but you have done with her, you know, and have, what is
called, burned your boats! Now, come along with me, and I’ll buy you a
little souvenir of the occasion!”
The souvenir, took the form of a superb diamond ring, which Cara placed
with ecstasy upon her third finger. The purchase had been speedy--since
Blagdon, a moneyed man, always knew exactly what he wanted--and as they
emerged to the water-side, Cara gazed nervously down the lake. Yes,
the steamer, bearing her mother out of her life, was still in sight.
Her eyes, as she watched it rounding the promontory, were blinded with
tears; when she had brushed these away, she looked once more, but the
_Stadthof_ and her pretty Mum, had disappeared, as far as she was
concerned, for ever.
* * * * *
Having accomplished her errands and visits, Letty arrived punctually at
the Bahnhof Pier, and looked eagerly around for Cara and her parcels;
but no Cara appeared--she was not even in sight as the boat cast off.
Letty and her daughter were dining that evening with Mrs. Hesketh, and
at the Paradis she anxiously awaited her. Cara had missed a boat on
several occasions, and come by the next; and now every time the great
revolving door swung, she expected to see her enter. Time went on,
dinner was over, the nine o’clock steamer had passed by, brilliantly
illuminated.
“What _can_ have become of Cara?” said her mother. “I know she was
going to the Convent--it is not like _them_ to keep the child so late.
Shall we go and wait in the lounge?”
When the ladies entered, the hall, the concierge came forward with a
thin blue telegram, addressed to ‘Mrs. Glyn,’ and handed it to Letty,
who tore it open with shaking fingers. As her eyes glanced over the
contents, she gave a faint exclamation and dropped the paper. Mrs.
Hesketh picked it up instantly, and read:
“Leaving for Paris with father. Good-bye. C. Blagdon.”