A BANKRUPT HEART.
A BANKRUPT HEART.
BY
FLORENCE MARRYAT,
AUTHOR OF
‘LOVE’S CONFLICT,’ ‘MY OWN CHILD,’ ‘PARSON JONES,’
ETC., ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. III.
LONDON:
F. V. WHITE & CO.,
14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1894.
_This story being already dramatised, all rights are reserved._
_CONTENTS._
PAGE
CHAPTER I. 1
CHAPTER II. 24
CHAPTER III. 47
CHAPTER IV. 70
CHAPTER V. 96
CHAPTER VI. 117
CHAPTER VII. 140
CHAPTER VIII. 164
CHAPTER IX. 187
CHAPTER X. 210
A BANKRUPT HEART.
A BANKRUPT HEART.
----_o_----
CHAPTER I.
But as she looked at Nell, Nora saw a stain of blood showing through
the sleeve of her light print dress.
‘But you _are_ hurt. You are bleeding!’ she exclaimed with horror. ‘Oh,
I _am_ so sorry. What can I do for you?’
Nell regarded the blood-stain with calm indifference.
‘It is nothing, my lady. I presume I am speaking to Lady Bowmant,’ she
added, with a courtesy that struck Nora as uncommon with her class.
‘Oh, no, I am not Lady Bowmant. I am only one of her visitors. I was
driving with her, and she went into a cottage and left me with the
carriage, and these two little brutes ran away with me. But how am I to
get them home? I dare not take the reins again for my life. How far is
it to the Hall?’
‘Oh, the Hall is only round the corner, madam,’ answered Nell; ‘I would
help you to lead them, but--’ Here she hesitated, not knowing how to
proceed; then, as if a sudden thought had struck her, she stood on
tip-toe and looked over the hedge and called loudly, ‘Tom.’
‘Yes, miss,’ replied a hedger coming at her call.
‘Come round here at once and lead these horses up to the Hall for
this lady. They are beyond her control.’ Then addressing Nora, she
continued--‘You had better get in again, madam, and this man will see
you safely to the Hall. You will want to send the carriage back for
Lady Bowmant.’
‘Oh, yes, indeed. What will she think of my disappearing in this
extraordinary manner? Thank you so much. I don’t know what I should
have done without your assistance. But I am so troubled about your arm.
I am sure you are horribly hurt,’ said Nora, as she mounted into the
dog-cart.
‘Please don’t say anything more about it,’ replied Nell; ‘at the worst
it will only be a bruise; you need not be afraid now, madam. This man
is rough, but he understands horses, and is very steady.’
And so saying Nell slipped through a break in the hedge and was gone.
Lady Ilfracombe arrived safely at the Hall, and a groom was at once
despatched to pick up Lady Bowmant, whom he met half-way between old
Farley’s cottage and the house, laughing heartily to herself over the
disappearance of her friend and her carriage, having made a shrewd
guess that Beau and Belle had taken her home, whether she would or
not. The occurrence formed the chief topic of conversation at the
luncheon-table, and Nora was full of the beautiful country girl she had
met and who had shown so much courage in stopping the runaway cobs.
‘I must make her some little acknowledgment of the service she rendered
me, mustn’t I, Ilfracombe?’ she asked her husband. ‘I might have been
killed, if it hadn’t been for her, and, or still worse, smashed Lady
Bowmant’s pretty trap.’
‘Of course you must, darling,’ replied the earl. ‘We can never repay
her for what she did for us.’
‘But I don’t know her name!’ exclaimed Nora, ‘though I suppose she
lives somewhere over the way, because she ordered the old hedger to
lead the cobs home, as if he were her servant. Oh, she is such a pretty
young woman. Her face is perfectly lovely. I think it was because I was
so occupied gazing at her, that I forgot to ask her name.’
‘A very pretty girl,’ repeated Sir Archibald. ‘I think that must be one
of the Llewellyns. They’re the prettiest girls for a good many miles
round Usk. Isn’t that the case, Dolly?’ he said, addressing his wife.
‘Well, I’ve only seen the married one,’ she replied, but I know they
bear that reputation. The father is a very handsome old man.’
At the name of Llewellyn, Lady Ilfracombe looked up quickly, and the
earl and Jack Portland exchanged glances with each other.
‘What is there in that to surprise you?’ demanded their host, mistaking
the meaning of their looks. ‘Wales is rather celebrated for beauty, you
know; at least we won’t allow that England, Ireland or Scotland can
hold a candle to us in that respect.’
Ilfracombe did not seem disposed to answer, so Jack Portland took upon
himself to be spokesman.
‘I have not the slightest doubt of your superiority, Sir Archibald,’
he said, ‘and was not the least surprised to hear you say so. I only
thought I had heard the name before.’
‘What! of Llewellyn? _I_ should be surprised if you had not. We are all
Llewellyns, or Owens, or Lewises, or Thomases in Wales. It’s one of
the commonest names here. I’ve about half a dozen Llewellyns amongst
my tenants. But this man’s daughters are really uncommonly handsome.
Fine tall girls, with splendidly cut features. By Jove! it’s a pleasure
to go to the farm only to catch a glimpse of one of them.’
‘And that’s why you’re always going over there then,’ cried Lady
Bowmant. ‘I’ve caught you at last, my gentleman. No more Panty-cuckoo
Farm for you. I’ll take good care of that.’
‘Panty-cuckoo Farm! Is that where my rustic beauty lives?’ exclaimed
Nora. ‘What a fanciful name! What does it mean? Panty-cuckoo.’
‘The dell of the cuckoo, or the cuckoo’s dell,’ replied Lady Bowmant.
‘Yes, isn’t it pretty? It’s the farm just across the road, where Mr
Portland and Mr Lennox sleep. Mrs Llewellyn is a dear old woman. I
always go to her in any perplexity. She supplies us with all the extra
eggs and chickens and butter we may want. Lady Ilfracombe, you _should_
see her dairy; it’s a perfect picture, and everything about the farm
is so quaint and old, and so faultlessly clean and neat. She and her
husband are quite model tenants. I always take my friends to pay them a
visit.’
After luncheon, when the rest of the party had separated to pursue
their own devices, Nora crept after her husband.
‘Ilfracombe,’ she whispered, ‘supposing this should be one of _her_
sisters?’
‘Whose? What are you talking about?’ he said rather curtly.
‘You know. The Miss Llewellyn you have told me of.’
‘What will you get into your head next? What likelihood is there
of such a thing? Who ever said she had any sisters, or came from
Usk? Didn’t you hear Sir Archibald say the place was peopled with
Llewellyns? Please don’t get any absurd fancies into your head. The
name is distasteful to me as it is? I wish we had not heard it. Now,
I suppose there will be a grand fuss made of the service this girl
rendered you, and the whole family will be paraded out for our special
benefit. You have been a good friend to me in this business, Nora. Get
me out of this unnecessary annoyance, if you can.’
‘Of course, I will,’ replied his wife readily. ‘You sha’n’t be bothered
if I can help it, Ilfracombe. You were a dear, good boy to make a clean
breast to me of the matter, and I’ll see you don’t suffer for it. I
must remunerate the young woman or her parents for what she did this
morning, so I’ll just go to the farm this afternoon by myself and get
it quietly over. How much should I offer her? What do you think? Will
five pounds be enough?’
‘I think so; but that is as you feel about it. But Nora, darling, you
needn’t mention our names, need you? We shall be gone probably before
they have a chance of finding out anything about us, and though I don’t
suppose there is any chance of their being related to--to--_her_--yet
if they should be--you understand?’
Lady Ilfracombe went up to her husband and kissed his anxious face.
‘I understand,’ she replied, and then left the room. There was a
slight summer shower that afternoon, and the rest of the Hall party
had already settled themselves to spend it indoors. A noisy set were
occupied in the billiard-room, chatting and laughing over their game,
and the more respectable scandalmongers were working, reading, and
taking away their neighbours’ characters in the seclusion of the
drawing-room. Lady Ilfracombe donned a large straw hat, and, taking
an umbrella in her hand, set forth for Panty-cuckoo Farm without
observation. She soon found her way through the white gate, and down
the hilly slope, and found the latched wicket that guarded the bricked
pathway up to the house. As soon as she placed her hand upon the latch,
Mrs Llewellyn, as was her custom at the approach of any visitors, came
quickly forward to save her the trouble of opening it, and give her a
welcome to Panty-cuckoo Farm.
‘Walk in, my lady,’ she exclaimed cordially. ‘This way, if you please,’
and ushering Nora into the parlour she dusted a chair with her apron,
and set it before her.
‘Oh, what a lovely room,’ cried Nora enthusiastically, as she gazed
around her. ‘What dear old carved oak. Why, it must be centuries old;
and what beautiful china. Don’t leave me here alone, pray, or I shall
steal half your things. I suppose you are Mrs Llewellyn. Well, you have
the very jolliest room I ever saw in my life.’
Mrs Llewellyn was completely won over by this praise. She was very
proud, as has been said before, of her room and oak and china, and
nothing pleased her better than to see them appreciated.
‘Many have told me so before, ma’am; but I am glad you like them. My
husband and I have been offered pounds and pounds sometimes for these
very things by the ladies and gentlemen who have visited Usk; but we
could never make up our minds to sell them. They belonged to our
great-great-grandparents, and there they will be till our time comes to
leave them behind us for the benefit of our daughters.’
‘Your daughters, Mrs Llewellyn. That reminds me of the purpose of
my visit to you. A young woman, whom I believe to be one of your
daughters, did me a very great service this morning. She stopped a pair
of runaway horses for me, and saved, perhaps, my life.’
‘Ay, that was my eldest girl. She told us of it; but it is nothing to
make a fuss about, ma’am. Country girls are more used to do such things
than town ladies. There’s not a girl in Usk but what would do her best
to stop a horse. I hope you weren’t hurt at all yourself, ma’am?’
‘Not a bit; but your daughter was. I saw the blood-stain on the sleeve
of her dress. I am afraid the horse touched her arm with his hoof when
he threw her down.’
‘It can’t be over much,’ said Mrs Llewellyn quietly, ‘for she never
said anything to me about it, though now you mention it, ma’am, I
_did_ notice a bit of blood on her sleeve too. Lor’, it’s nothing. I
thought she got it in the henhouse maybe, or the larder. It isn’t worth
speaking of.’
‘But I am quite of a different opinion I can assure you, Mrs Llewellyn,
and I came over expressly to tell you so. May I see your daughter? Is
she in the house?’
‘Certainly, ma’am, if you wish it. I’ll send her to you at once, and
perhaps you would do us the honour to take a cup of tea whilst you
wait. Lady Bowmant, she always has a cup of tea when she comes here.
She says she has quite a fancy for our cream.’
‘I will with pleasure, Mrs Llewellyn. Indeed I have heard such grand
accounts of your famous dairy that I am quite anxious to taste its
produce.’
The farmer’s wife bridled under the compliment, and turned with the
intention of leaving the room; but as she reached the door she said,--
‘May I take the liberty of asking your name, madam?’
Nora was just about to give her maiden name, remembering her husband’s
injunction, when she noticed she had withdrawn the glove of her left
hand, and displaying her wedding-ring and jewelled keepers, so with her
quick wit, which never found her at a disadvantage, she borrowed the
name of one of the ladies, who was even at that moment taking away hers
in the Hall drawing-room, and answered, ‘Mrs Lumley.’
‘Thank you, madam,’ said the old woman, as she curtseyed and withdrew.
In another moment she was adjuring Nell to go down to the parlour and
hear what the lady from the Hall had to say to her.
‘Oh, mother, why did you say I was indoors?’ she exclaimed fretfully.
‘What should she want to see me for? You know how I hate seeing
strangers.’
‘Well, my lass, it is not my fault. The lady, Mrs Lumley is her name,
wants to thank you for what you did this morning, and for my part I
think it is very pretty-mannered of her to come over herself when she
might have written to express her gratitude. But here she is, and you
must go down and see her whilst I make her a cup of tea. She says she
heard so much of our dairy that she’s quite anxious to taste our cream.
She’s as nice-spoken a young lady as ever I met, and I’m sure she has
good intentions towards you.’
‘But I don’t _want_ to be thanked,’ repeated Nell in the same tone. ‘It
was the simplest thing in the world; anyone would have done it. I only
caught at the reins as the horses passed me. What does she want to make
a fuss about it for? Its over and done with. Why can’t she leave it
alone?’
‘Well, my lass, I can’t stay to answer all your testy questions. I must
go and see that the kettle boils for the tea. Now, go down, there’s a
good girl. She’s one of the Hall guests, and we mustn’t offend them,
you know.’
So Nell smoothed her rippling hair, and went down to the parlour with
a bad grace, and stood just inside the door, stiff as a soldier on
duty, and without speaking a word. But Nora did not seem to perceive
her mood. She thought her stiffness was meant for respect.
‘Oh, Miss Llewellyn,’ she began, ‘I’ve come over expressly to see you,
and thank you better than I could this morning for the great service
you rendered me. Don’t stand there, pray, but come here and sit down by
me, and let me tell you how brave and courageous and good I think you
were to do so much for a stranger.’
Nell’s haughty shyness was overcome by the cordiality of her new
acquaintance. She sat down as she was asked to do, but not a feature of
her beautiful face relaxed. She could not forget that she was speaking
to a visitor from the Hall--that place which she had so much dreaded
since she knew that Mr Portland was staying there.
‘I can’t see the particular courage of it, Mrs Lumley,’ she replied. ‘I
was sauntering along inside the hedge looking for some of my mother’s
turkey poults that had strayed from the yard when your horses came
tearing along, and I put out my hand mechanically to stop them. You are
making too much of my action--indeed you are. Tom was only a few yards
further on, clipping the hedges. He would have stopped them, and better
than I did, and not been rolled so ignominiously in the dust,’ and Nell
could not help smiling at the recollection.
‘Ah, and you were kicked or something!’ exclaimed Nora; ‘I saw the
blood on your arm. And yet you will say it was of no consequence.’
Nell rolled up the sleeve of her print dress, exposing her white,
smooth arm. There was a long graze on it, and it was beginning to get
discoloured.
‘That is all,’ she said contemptuously. ‘You don’t call _that_
anything.’
‘But indeed I do,’ said Nora; ‘and it was ever so good of you to incur
it for my sake. Besides, you don’t consider the risk you ran. Because
you happened to get off with a few bruises, it doesn’t follow that it
was not quite as brave of you to risk getting your leg broken or your
head run over. And there is no saying what you did not save me from.
No, no, Miss Llewellyn, you shall not put me off that way. You must
let me offer you some little remuneration for your timely help. Don’t
imagine I think any money can repay you for it, but perhaps you will
buy yourself some little present to remind you of this day, and how
grateful I am to you.’
And Nora placed the five-pound note gently in Nell’s hand as she spoke.
Nell never opened it. It might have been for fifty pounds for aught
she knew, but she took it up, folded as it was, and replaced it on her
companion’s lap.
‘No, thank you, Mrs Lumley,’ she said quietly. ‘You mean it kindly, I
know, and I appreciate your intention, but I cannot take money from you
for so slight a thing. My father would not like it; we are not in need
of it, and I shall remember you and to-day quite well without it.’
Nora felt hurt and annoyed--not with Nell, but herself. She ought to
have known better than to offer such a very superior sort of young
woman money. It was thoughtless of her--unpardonable. She thrust the
offending bank-note into her pocket, and turning, took Nell’s hand.
‘Forgive me,’ she said, just as if she had known her for years. ‘I
have been a fool. I ought to have seen that you were above such paltry
considerations. You don’t look like a farmer’s daughter to me. You seem
as if you had been used to such much better things. Have you lived in
Usk all your life?’
‘No, not all my life,’ said Nell.
‘Have you been a governess, then, or anything of that sort? You seem to
have had such a very superior education,’ remarked Nora.
‘Do you think so?’ replied Nell.
She certainly seemed a very difficult sort of young woman to get
on with. Nora hardly knew how to proceed. But then a sudden thought
struck her (for hers was a generous nature), and hastily drawing a
sapphire ring off her finger, she tried to put it on one of Nell’s.
It was one that the earl had given her--that he had been accustomed
to wear himself. It was what is called a gipsy ring--a broad band of
gold, in which three unusually fine, dark-blue, flawless sapphires were
sunk--the only ring which Ilfracombe had worn before his marriage. He
had put it on Nora’s finger at Malta as soon as he was engaged to her,
as proxy for one better suited to her slender hand, and she had refused
to give it up again. Now it struck her that it would be just the sort
of ring to present to a young woman whose hands were rather large and
used to rough work. So she tried to put it on the third finger of
Nell’s left hand.
‘They say it is unlucky to wear a ring on your wedding-finger till you
are married,’ she said, laughing; ‘but I am sure, Miss Llewellyn, you
are far too sensible a girl to mind an old superstition.’
‘But what are you doing?’ asked Nell sharply, as she drew her hand
away. There, on her finger glittered the ring she knew so well--had
seen so often on the hand of her lover in the olden days. She gazed at
it for a moment, fascinated as a bird by the eye of a snake; and then,
with a sharp cry, she dragged the jewel off again, and it rolled under
the table and along the polished oak floor.
‘Oh, my poor ring,’ cried the countess, somewhat offended at this
determined repulse.
‘Whose is it? Where did you get it?’ exclaimed Nell, as she rose to her
feet with flashing eyes and trembling limbs.
‘Where did I get it?’ echoed Nora, with amazement. ‘Why, I bought it,
of course. Where should I have got it?’
‘No, you didn’t!’ said Nell, panting. ‘It was given to you!’
‘What an extraordinary girl you are,’ replied Nora, as she stooped to
recover her ring. ‘If it _were_ given to me, you may be sure I have
every right to pass it on to you if I choose. But what makes you say
so?’
‘_Who_ gave it you?’ asked Nell, without apologising for her strange
behaviour.
‘My husband,’ replied Nora, without thinking.
‘Your husband? Mr Lumley? And from whom did _he_ get it then?’
persisted the farmer’s daughter.
‘Really, I don’t see what right you have to question me after this
fashion,’ said Nora. ‘I don’t know whom he got it from. The jewellers,
I suppose. But pray don’t let us say another word upon the subject.
It is evident that, instead of giving you pleasure, I have done just
the other thing. All my stupidity, I suppose. I thought, as you would
not take money, that the ring would have been more acceptable to
you, but I was mistaken. Now, pray don’t be angry. Let us drop the
subject altogether. Ah, here comes your mother with the tea-tray. Mrs
Llewellyn, your daughter and I have been having quite a little quarrel
over this affair. She won’t take money from me, and she won’t take a
present, so I don’t know what to do. Perhaps you will be able to make
her a little more reasonable after I have gone.’
‘Ah, ma’am, she’s very queer at times, poor lass,’ said Mrs Llewellyn,
for Nell had taken the occasion of her entrance to escape to the upper
storey again. ‘She’s been so pulled-down and weakened by the fever,
that father and I say we hardly know her. Sometimes I think she’ll
never be the same girl again as she was before she left home. But you
mustn’t think nothing more about giving her a present, ma’am. What she
did for you, you was most heartily welcome to, as her father would say,
too, if he was here. Sir Archibald has been a good landlord to us for
many years past; and if he hadn’t taken it into his head to raise the
rent, we shouldn’t have anything to say against him. But pray let me
give you a cup of tea, ma’am, with cream and sugar to your liking.’
And, over the discussion of Mrs Llewellyn’s excellent tea, Nell and her
abrupt behaviour were spoken of no more. But Lady Ilfracombe, though
she did not like to vex the earl by mentioning the subject to him,
could not banish it from her mind for some time afterwards.