IN ENGLAND ONCE MORE.
The whole of that night Emilia spent in prayer and thought. She sought
for guidance, and her prayers were answered. With one exception the
events of the past came clearly before her. The death of her father,
her life in Mrs. Seaton's house, her first meeting with Gerald, what
occurred on the night she was turned by the cruel woman into the
streets, the kindness of the maiden sisters, her flight after
overhearing the vile calumnies which Mrs. Seaton uttered against her,
her meeting with the good old wagoner--and then a blank. She could not
remember where the wagoner's cottage was situated, and she knew it
would be impossible to find it without some practical clue. The
marriage at the registrar's office she now distinctly recalled, and
although she had never held the marriage certificate in her hand, she
was certain the ceremony had been performed. Then came the memory of
the happy honeymoon, and with that memory certain words which Gerald
had spoken to her with reference to the desk of Indian workmanship
which he had said was her property, but which his brother Leonard
retained with other articles which rightfully belonged to her. The
words were these: "There is a secret drawer in this desk, Emilia, and
in the desk something which concerns you nearly." It flashed upon her
with the power of a divine revelation that what he referred to was the
marriage certificate, which, if she could obtain it, would insure her
daughter's happiness and save them both from disgrace. She placed
credence no longer in the infamous statement made by Leonard, that she
had gone through a false ceremony; she had believed it at the time
because of her wish to escape from her persecutors and defamers,
because Gerald was lost to her, because she thought only of the
present. The image of Gerald, with his truthful eyes, rose before her;
she heard his voice, the voice of truth and honor, say mournfully,
"And could you believe that I could be so unutterably base and
infamous as to deceive you so shamefully, that I could plot and lie
for your ruin, whom I loved so faithfully?" No, she would no longer
believe it. Gerald had behaved honorably toward her, and she had
allowed herself to be tricked by the specious tale of a villain whose
object was to obtain possession of the fortune which would have fallen
to her. He was welcome to that, but she would at least make an effort
to rescue her darling child from despair. She would go to England and
endeavor to find Leonard. That done she would boldly confront him, and
tell him to his face that he had lied to her, and that she would
expose him if he did not furnish her with the opportunity of
establishing her marriage with Gerald. She would not confide in
Constance, for the present, and for as long as it was in her power to
do so, she would preserve her secret. Time enough when she was
compelled to reveal it.
She acted as she was inwardly directed. The following day she told
Constance that business of a private nature necessitated her going to
England. Constance was to go with her, and they would be away from
Geneva probably some six or seven weeks.
"We shall be back before Julian returns," said Constance, and then was
seized with consternation. "But his letters, mamma, his letters!"
"We can leave directions," said Emilia, "that they shall be forwarded
to the London Post-Office. It will only be a delay of a day or two,
and you can make your letters to Julian longer, as a recompense."
Emilia named London, a city she had never visited, because she had
often heard Leonard say that it was the only place in England worth
living in. With money at command that would be the most likely place
in which to find him.
Julian's family were surprised at this sudden departure, but Emilia
easily explained it by saying that it was upon private business of
importance. By her directions Constance wrote to Julian at once,
informing him of their movements, and bidding him address his future
letters to her to the General Post-Office in London. Then Emilia made
arrangements for a lady to take her place with her pupils during her
absence, and all her preparations being completed, she and Constance
started for England.
What would have embarrassed her had Constance been of a less sweet and
confiding disposition was the necessity of her conducting her
inquiries alone, without the knowledge of her daughter. She explained
this to Constance as well as she was able.
"You will not mind being left a good deal alone, dear?" she said,
when they were established in lodgings in London.
"No, mamma, if you wish it," said Constance.
"It is necessary, darling. I have some business of a very private
nature to look after; if you were with me it would hamper me. I cannot
tell you now what it is, but it is for your good and mine."
"And Julian's," said Constance.
"Of course, and Julian's. You will not mind, will you?"
"No, mamma, not at all. I can get books, and I can write to Julian."
"You think only of him, dear."
"And of you, mamma," said Constance, reproachfully.
"Yes, my dear, yes. I think I must be growing jealous."
"There is no reason, mamma dear. I love you both with all my heart.
And Julian loves us both with all his. And you love us both with all
yours. So it is really equal all round."
"Constance," said Emilia, "if it were ever to happen that you had to
choose between Julian and me----"
"Mamma," cried Constance, "you frighten me!"
"Forgive me, darling, forgive me," said Emilia, hastening to repair
her error by caresses, "but all sorts of notions come into a foolish
mother's head when she is about to lose her child."
"Now, mamma," said Constance, forcing her mother into a chair and
kneeling before her, "I am going to be very severe with you. How, can
you talk of my choosing between Julian and you? Why, mamma, it is
impossible, it would break my heart! And how can you talk of losing
your child? You will never lose her, darling mamma. Instead of losing
me you will have another to look after as well as me; you will have
Julian, who loves you nearly, not quite--I will not have that--as much
as I do."
"Never, Constance."
"And you will never think it again?"
"Never, dear," said Emilia; and she was careful from that hour to keep
a more jealous guard over her tongue.
At this period of Emilia's life there entered into her soul a
surprising strength. She became strong, morally and physically. All
her energies, all her intellectual faculties, were braced up almost
abnormally in the momentous mission upon which she was engaged.
Feeling the importance of a starting-point, she determined to visit
her native town, and to visit it alone. She learnt from the
time-tables that a train started at 5 P.M. and arrived at 10. On the
following day a train from London started at 4 P.M. and was due some
six hours after, so that she need be absent from Constance for one
night only. It was her first separation from her child, but she nerved
herself to it, and instilled the same spirit into Constance, who
consented without a murmur. Constance was to have her meals at home,
to keep her doors locked and not stir out, and to wait up the second
night for her mother's return.
"I shall be quite safe, mamma," said Constance, "and I shall not be
dull. Nearly all the time you are away I shall be writing to Julian."
That night Emilia was once more in her native town. Eighteen years had
passed since she left it, and it was with sadness she recognized
familiar landmarks with which her childhood had been associated. She
had taken the precaution of effecting a change in her appearance. She
darkened her eyebrows and arranged her hair in a fashion so strange as
to be startled when she looked into the glass. Moreover, she wore a
thick veil. "No one will know me," she thought. But when she issued
from the hotel the next morning she was a little afraid, for among the
first persons she met was Mrs. Seaton. The cruel woman was but little
altered; her features were more pinched, her eyes more stern than of
yore, but Emilia knew her instantly. Mrs. Seaton, however, did not
recognize Emilia, although she looked at her sharply, as was her wont
with strangers. There was in the town a gossip who kept a small shop,
and thither Emilia went, and, entering the shop, was greeted by the
same woman who used to serve her in former years. Making some
purchases and bargaining for others, Emilia drew the woman into
conversation, and learned all she wished to know. Oh, yes, the woman
remembered the brothers Paget very well, very well indeed. They were
not brothers, no, they were stepbrothers. There was a fire in their
house, and it was burned down, how many years ago? Eighteen or twenty,
she could not quite say to a year or two; and a young lady, Miss
Braham--Emilia Braham, that was her right name--rushed out of the
house in the middle of the night while the fire was raging. There was
a lot of talk about it. Miss Braham's father died suddenly--was killed
by the falling of a scaffold--and Emilia was left alone, without a
shilling in the world. Then she got a situation with Mrs. Seaton--Oh,
everybody knew Mrs. Seaton; she had a sharp tongue, and had more
enemies than friends--and she left her mistress' house at a moment's
notice. Late at night, too. Mrs. Seaton said she had planned a secret
meeting with Mr. Gerald Paget--he was the handsomest and the youngest
of the step-brothers--and that was the reason of her going away so
suddenly. It did look suspicious, didn't it? And it looked more than
suspicious when she rushed out of Mr. Gerald's house in the middle of
the night to save herself from being burned alive. That is often how
people are found out in a way they little expect. But there were some
people afterward who took Miss Braham's part, and said she wasn't
guilty, though appearances were so much against her. That was because
two ladies--old maids they were, and sisters--stood up for her, and
went about saying all sorts of kind things about Miss Braham. What is
that you say? God bless them for it! Yes, they deserve all that; they
were kind-hearted ladies. They're in the churchyard now, and know more
than we do. Well, these old maids took Miss Braham home on the night
of the fire, when she was in a high fever, and no wonder, with what
was on her mind; and Mrs. Seaton went there and told them they were
being imposed upon by a shameless young woman. It was a hard thing to
do, and she might have held her tongue, but that is not Mrs. Seaton's
way. Once she takes a grudge against a body she don't let them alone,
not she. While she was, with the old maids talking against Miss
Braham, the young lady herself heard it, it seems, and she ran away,
no one knew where to. Mr. Gerald, who must have been very much in love
with her, was in a dreadful way about her, and the lawyers were busy
trying to find her; and his step-brother, Mr. Leonard, who had come
home from Australia that very morning, helped him, too. Then the two
brothers went away together, and nothing was heard of them, or of Miss
Braham, for months and months, till it got about that poor Mr. Gerald
had been killed by falling over a precipice in foreign parts. Then Mr.
Leonard came home, and took possession of the property, which all fell
to him. What did he do with it? He sold it all off, and went to London
to live, and that's where he is now, for all she knew. It was a lot of
money he came into; some say as much as five or six thousand pounds a
year, but he was just the sort of gentleman to make ducks and drakes
with it. That was the whole story of the two brothers and Miss Emilia
Braham. You would like to know something more! What is it? When Mr.
Leonard Paget came home didn't he say anything about Miss Braham? No,
not a word, so far as she knew, and she would have been sure to hear
of it if he had. No, she was positive he never said one single word
about her. She did not suppose he knew what became of her, and most
likely, after a time, he forgot her altogether.
Then the garrulous shopwoman, having exhausted her budget, reckoned up
the purchases which Emilia had made, and having received payment, bade
her customer good day.
Emilia's next visit was to a flower shop, where she bought some loose
flowers; then to the churchyard, where she was directed to the grave
of the maiden sisters. She knelt and prayed there, and left the
flowers on their grave.
She had learned that Leonard was in London, and as there was no
occasion for her to remain any longer in the town she took an earlier
train than that she had marked, and arrived home four hours before
Constance expected her. Reflecting upon her situation during that
night, she felt how powerless she was. Leonard, she had every reason
to believe, was in London, but to look for him in that vast city in
the hope of finding him was scarcely within reason. And, indeed, had
she not been befriended by some strange chance she might have remained
in London for years without meeting the man for whom she was seeking.
But it happened so, and an important stage was reached in her inquiry.
The weather was bitterly cold, and snow was falling heavily, but this
did not keep her at home. In a kind of fever she traversed the streets
of the city, selecting those which a man of fashion and fond of
pleasure would be most likely to frequent. On the fourth day of her
search she was walking in Regent Street, when she suddenly stopped
with her hand at her heart. It was as much as she could do to prevent
herself from screaming aloud, for walking leisurely before her, with a
light step and jaunty air, was Leonard Paget himself. By a powerful
effort she controlled her agitation, and set herself the task of
following him. She had caught a glimpse of his face, and she could not
be mistaken. He looked older and thinner, but his expression was that
of a man who was enjoying the pleasures of the world and making the
most of them. Having thus providentially tracked him down, Emilia
determined not to lose sight of him. Her desire was to ascertain where
he lived, and in the doing so to keep herself from his sight. To
accost him in the open street would be madness. No, she must speak to
him in a place where he could not easily escape from her, where he
could not thrust her off. "If he takes a cab," she thought, "I will
take another and follow him. If he walks all day and night, I will
walk after him. He shall not, he shall not, evade me now." No
detective could have been more determined and wary than she, but her
present task did not occupy her very long. The cold day was no
temptation to the man before her, and it happened fortunately for
Emilia, that his face was homeward turned. He walked to the bottom of
Regent Street, and plunged into the narrow tangle of thoroughfares on
the left. The numbers of people favored her pursuit, and she was not
noticed. True, the man did not know he was being followed, and only
looked back when a pretty girl passed him. Presently he was in Soho,
and in one or two of the streets through which she passed Emilia
feared detection, there being fewer persons in them; but still he had
no suspicion, and walked carelessly, gayly on. At length he stopped
before a house in Gerard Street, took a latch-key from his pocket,
opened the door, entered, and closed it behind him.
Emilia drew a long breath. It was there he lived; but she would make
sure.
A boy with a basket of bread slung across his shoulders had stopped at
the next house to deliver a loaf. Leonard Paget had passed the boy,
who looked at him while he was opening the street door. Then the boy,
having received some money, lounged on to the house which Leonard had
entered, and knocked and rang. The housekeeper, Mrs. Middlemore,
answered the summons, and took in a loaf. When the street door was
closed again Emilia crossed over to the lad, and asked him if he would
like a shilling, to which the boy facetiously replied that he would
like two, but would put up with one if he could not get more.
"I will give you two," said Emilia, "if you answer a few questions."
"Off we start," said the boy.
"I want to know who that gentleman is who went into the house you have
just left?"
"That gent as let himself in with his latch-key. Oh, that's Mr.
Felix."
"It's not true," said Emilia.
"Oh, you're going to cry off, are you? I call that mean, I do. I tell
you it's Mr. Felix."
Emilia considered a moment. What more likely than that Leonard Paget
was living there under an assumed name?
"Are you sure? Here is the first shilling."
"Cock sure. Why, he's lived there years and years, and there's nobody
in the house but him. There's a housekeeper, Mrs. Middlemore; she took
in a loaf from me."
"Does this Mr. Felix live there regularly?"
"I see him regularly, so he lives there regularly. Anything more I can
do for you?"
"No, thank you; here is your other shilling."
"Thank you." And the boy walked off, whistling.