AT HOME AGAIN
GODFREY took her up to the moor. They talked first about her aunt in
France.
"I thought we should never get you back," he said; "you have seemed to
be taking root there."
"It has been very difficult," she responded.
And she tried to give him some idea of her life in the old Château.
He was a good listener, but somehow she did not fancy to-day that he
was quite so wrapped up in her life as he used to be, and presently she
paused:
"Now tell me about yourself and all the village. I have seen no one—not
even Phemie. I almost thought she would have been round."
"Well, she was waiting, she did not like to intrude. I want to tell you
about Phemie—and myself."
In a flash Adrienne saw what was coming. It struck her like a blow.
Godfrey was speaking in his frank, pleasant way.
"I know you will be glad. When you sent me away from you the last time,
I felt I must take it like a man, and not pester you again. And somehow
or other Phemie has been coming to see Mother, and we've taken a few
rides together. And gradually our friendship has deepened, and I've
come to know her better than I've ever done before. I always liked her
as a friend, but she's more than that now. I had a little trouble with
Mother. I suppose all mothers are the same; they like their sons to
marry money, high birth, etc.; but she's really too fond of me to hold
out against my wishes, and she has become quite attached to Phemie!"
"Oh, Godfrey, I'm so glad. Dear Phemie! She deserves to be made happy.
She has been so plucky over the farm, and it has been uncongenial work.
What does her mother say?"
"She doesn't seem over-pleased. I'm afraid she will miss her, but she
works her like a galley slave. And I'm stopping a good bit of that. I
insist upon her coming out with me. You don't know how pretty she's
getting. She's losing all that worn, weary look about her eyes. She
wanted you to know, so I told her I would tell you to-day."
"She'll make you the dearest wife! My best congrats, Godfrey. I'm very,
very glad."
She listened whilst he went on to talk about his fiancée's perfections,
and when their ride was over, and Adrienne reached home again, she felt
as if all her world were falling to pieces.
She knew she had not wanted Godfrey when he had wanted her; but in
spite of that, there was a little hurt feeling in her heart that he had
forgotten her so entirely, and was so completely satisfied with this
second choice of his.
"I have only been away about three months," she told herself—"it is
barely that; yet he has put someone in my place with the greatest ease.
I always felt that he did not really and truly love me. I often told
him so, but he would not have it. I wonder what he would have said if
I had told him that I had become engaged to Cousin Guy. I might have,
if I'd taken him at his word. I almost believe that, if Godfrey had
not always been flitting through my background, I might have given Guy
a different answer. At all events I would not have snubbed him off
so promptly. And now I've lost them both, and I believe that I shall
be a single woman all my days! After all, there is nothing so very
attractive or fetching about me. I shan't have an unlimited number of
admirers haunting my steps."
And then she shed a few tears, and tried to think they were for her
uncle Tom, and for the blank he had left behind him; but in reality she
knew that they were for herself, and she grew angry at the thought of
it, for she had so despised her Aunt Cecily's continual self-pity.
She took up her old life again, yet her thoughts were continually
straying to the French village. The Admiral heard from his sister, who
was of course distressed at the loss of her brother.
"I am quite sure you will send Adrienne back as soon as you can," she
wrote. "Miss Preston, who is with me, does her best; but Adrienne knew
my ways, and she is my niece, and has duties towards me. Why don't you
sell your house and come out here? Dear Tom was too boisterous for my
nerves, but I could give you the library here for your sanctum and you
could help me in my business matters, which seem in sad disorder. I
shall be glad to hear the conditions of Tom's will. I hope he did not
forget his only sister, who is left to struggle on with insufficient
means to keep her head above water."
But the Countess was doomed to disappointment. General Chesterton and
his brother had mutually agreed to leave all they had to Adrienne. She
was almost entirely dependent on them, as her father, like his sister
Cecily, had spent more than he had saved. They considered that their
sister, who had received equal shares with them at their father's
death, was not as much in need of money as Adrienne. Meanwhile Adrienne
heard from Bertha Preston.
"MY DEAR ADRIENNE,—
"I want to report myself to you, as I am afraid I am not a great
success. Your capabilities and perfections are recounted to me day by
day. I strive to emulate you. I run round and do errands, and garden
and arrange flowers, and dust everything that I can lay my hands upon.
We take perambulations about the garden and wood. When I can, I sneak
off on my own, and visit little Agatha or call at my cottage. I am a
great walker, and am always happy in the open air. Your friend the
notary is closeted with your aunt continually. I fancy things are
coming to a climax. He tells her he must foreclose the mortgage. This
has been held over her head so long as a threat, that I think she does
not believe he will do it. But there's a nasty look in his eye which
means business. He evidently thinks the Count an ineffectual doll. He
said as much to me the other day, which rather amused me, as I have
seen him in quite another light. I asked your aunt what she would do
when the time came for her to leave the Château. She looked quite
scared, but evidently has been thinking the matter over, for she told
me this morning that she would go straight to her flat in Orleans until
her stepson bought it back for her. She has little idea of the tenacity
and purpose of the village notary. Did you know she has mortgaged the
furniture of the Château as well as the pictures? I told her that Van
Dyck's portrait was worth a fortune. It seems a pity that it should
go out of the family. Well—I must close. I hope you are well. We talk
about you continually and I have many inquiries after you from the
villagers.
"Yours affectionately,
"BERTHA PRESTON."
Adrienne felt very uneasy after receiving this letter. She showed it to
her uncle, who calmly said that the sooner his sister got rid of the
Château the better.
"It has always been a white elephant to her. She will be much happier
in Orleans. We begged her long ago to get rid of it. In every way she
will be better off in Orleans; she will be away from this scheming
lawyer of hers."
"But, Uncle Derrick, I can't bear to think of the Château in his hands,
and all its possessions. It is iniquitous! Oh if you knew it as I do,
you would feel differently! I have learnt to love it. It is so mellow,
so ancient; it seems to smile serenely in its decay. There's such a
sense of peace and rest in it. There's a favourite seat of mine in the
woods above it, where I sit and look down upon it, and think of all
that has happened in it in the past. Cousin Guy told me one day that
in their family records there was no deed of cruelty or of violence
that had ever been committed inside its walls, and the atmosphere feels
full of peace. I can't bear to think of it falling into the Bouveries'
hands."
"My dear child," said her uncle, rather surprised at this outburst, "I
had no idea that it had got such possession of you. We can do nothing
to help your aunt, I fear. Tom and I were continually sending her money
after her husband's death, but at last we stopped, for we judged it was
no real help to her."
"I have money now," said Adrienne thoughtfully; "I wonder—"
"No, it's not to be thought of. I am getting an old man, and you
will have yourself to provide for; you must not spend your money on
bolstering up a ruin."
"Oh, but it isn't a ruin, that's what makes it so sad. It only wants
decorating and painting. The walls and roof and all the rooms are sound
and good. But I couldn't buy it. Mr. Bouverie wants it for himself and
he would ask a fabulous price for it. What I am really concerned about
is Van Dyck's picture. Cousin Guy told Aunt Cecily he would not let
that go out of the family."
"Then let him come back and get it. Where is he?"
"I don't know. He gave me his banker's address in New York, in case of
anything urgent. I will write to them to-day. I think I will enclose
him Bertha's letter. I am so thankful she is there. I should be
miserable if Aunt Cecily were alone."
"Do you want to go back to her?" her uncle asked her in his quiet voice.
Adrienne laid her hand upon his arm.
"Uncle Derrick, do you think I would or could leave you? I did wonder
whether you would like to accept Aunt Cecily's invitation and go there
for a visit. I should love you to see it all."
"I'm afraid I shouldn't care to do that," said the Admiral slowly. "Tom
paid her a visit once, and it was a dead failure. No, my dear, I feel
that Cecily and I like each other best at a distance. But if you feel
you would like to go over again for a bit, you mustn't mind me. I can
get on very well alone."
"That's your unselfish outlook. I'm not going to leave you at present.
I couldn't."
She wrote to her cousin Guy that same day, enclosed Bertha Preston's
letter, and told him that at present she was tied to her uncle.
"He feels Uncle Tom's death intensely," she wrote; "and I cannot leave
him alone. He has more claim upon me than Aunt Cecily, but somehow or
other I feel torn in two; and I do want you to save the darling Château
from the Bouveries if you can. Surely his rope is long enough now to
hang him? I can't help hoping that you will save the situation. It is
critical now, and that is why I am writing to you."
She was relieved when this letter went.
One day, when the Admiral was away on business, Adrienne rode over to
see Phemie. She had had a note from her telling her of her happiness,
but saying it was harvest time and consequently a very busy time at the
farm.
She found her baking bread in the delightful kitchen. Mrs. Moray
was in the cornfields, and so was Dick. The girls kissed each other
affectionately.
"Why, Phemie, I don't know you! You look at least ten years younger."
"I wish I could return the compliment. Nothing would take away your
good looks, or your happy eyes, but you are thin and a little worn. I
am afraid you have had a sad home-coming."
"It is sad," said Adrienne, sitting down on the low window-seat, and
removing her hat, letting the breeze from the open window fan her
heated temples. "The house is a different place without Uncle Tom. It
seems so silent and grave! Uncle Derrick is very quiet, and I feel
getting very old and quiet too."
"But you mustn't!" said Phemie energetically. "It's all wrong. You
have your life before you, and you're young, younger than I. Oh,
Adrienne, I cannot sometimes believe that my happiness is real! I have
always looked upon Godfrey as an ideal modern knight; he is so good,
so generous, so courteous to all, and the poorer and humbler a person
is, the more he goes out of his way to befriend them. I used to look
upon him as your particular property, and when I found you did not care
about him, I felt angry with you; I was indignant because you could not
appreciate him. And then, when you went away, we were thrown together,
and I still thought it was only his kindness of heart towards one who
was in a very monotonous and unpalatable groove. It was almost too much
for me, when he came to close quarters and asked me to be his wife.
"At first I was terrified of his mother. I know it was an awful blow
to her, and I must say she has been most wonderfully forbearing and
kind. And if she was taken aback by it, you can imagine what Mother was
like. We had an awful scene. She said the farm would have to be given
up, and that if I deserted her, she would wash her hands of the whole
concern. Do you know, I didn't think Dick had it in him. He showed up
most wonderfully. Told Mother that my future prospects came before the
farm, that he did not intend to give it up if she did, and that he was
thankful that my life of toil was going to cease. He told Mother there
were plenty of land girls and labourers' daughters or wives who could
take my place, and that the farm was doing so well that hired labour
was now a possible thing.
"Mother calmed down then, and had a wonderful talk with me afterwards.
She owned up that she had driven us both, but that she was so afraid we
would take after our father, who drifted through life without any idea
of steady application or work! She always makes me angry when she talks
about Father; but my own happiness has made me more sympathetic, I
think, and I tried to see her side. She said that Dick was turning out
as she had hoped for, and that if he could see his way through without
my help, she would be willing to spare me, and would get some land girl
or woman to help her.
"She made me laugh; she said, 'I'll take care not to get one of these
pretty flighty girls who will be setting their caps at Dick. I'll
pick out the plainest and homeliest that I can find. Strength and
cleanliness are the chief things I want in them.'"
Phemie paused, then in a different tone she said:
"Oh, Adrienne, when I think that I shall have leisure time! Time for
the best part of me to be refreshed. When I shall be able to paint, to
read, to be able to enjoy some of the beauty in the world which I had
put behind me! Well, I just can't believe it. I'm so terribly afraid I
may wake up and find it a dream!"
"Dear Phemie, I'm so thankful, so glad!"
And in her heart Adrienne was; she told herself that the life unfolding
before Phemie was so gloriously full for her, that she was only
thankful that she had not marred it in any way.
Yet before she left Phemie, she plucked up courage and said to her:
"You'll forgive me, if I ask you whether Godfrey is more to you than
the life of ease and comfort which he offers you. Would you go to him
if you both had to work hard for your living?"
Phemie flashed an indignant look at her friend.
"I'm not demonstrative by nature, Adrienne, I take after Mother in
that; but do you think me so despicably mean as to take from Godfrey
all his good things, and not give him my heart, my life, my all? He has
always been my secret king and hero. But I naturally kept such feelings
to myself."
"Phemie dear, it was impertinent of me, but Godfrey and I have grown
up together, and he does deserve a wife who will do what I cannot do,
love and adore him. I can't tell you how happy I shall be. Two of my
greatest friends coming together like this!"
She rode home assuring herself that she was deeply content, and yet in
the bottom of her heart there was rather a lonely deserted feeling,
as if all her friends were leaving her—that she would no longer be
necessary to them.
"Well, I have Uncle Derrick, nothing will touch our love," she said to
herself, and she went back to him with sunshine in her eyes and smile.
Two or three weeks passed. Adrienne devoted herself to her uncle;
she got out her old songs and sang them to him in the evenings, the
time of day in which they most missed the General; she rode out with
him, and brought her work into the library when he was poring over
his books and pedigrees. And all the time her thoughts were in the
little French village, wondering if Bertha were getting tired of the
incessant demands made upon her time, whether Agatha and she held long
conversations together, whether Gaspard was keeping the rose-beds
weeded, whether the small vineyards on the sloping hill were showing
signs of a good vintage, and whether the Bouveries were really making
preparation for taking possession Of the Château.
At last she heard from Bertha that her aunt was going to make her usual
autumn move into her Orleans flat.
"She is playing a kind of game with herself and everyone else," wrote
Bertha, "by insisting that this is her usual move, and that she will be
returning in the spring, but I happen to know that Monsieur Bouverie
has promised her to wait to take possession till she has gone, and
that he means to move in directly she has done so. She is writing to
you to implore you to come back and help her with the move. She will
not trust me as she trusts you. Do you not think you could come for a
week or two? You need not go to Orleans with her. I believe she will be
happy there. And I really cannot stay much longer. I have heard from an
invalid cousin of mine who wants me to go to the Riviera with her the
end of September. If I do so, I shall have to be shutting up my cottage
and getting rid of my bits of furniture. I do not care to live there
now. But I must justify my existence by being of some use to someone,
so think my cousin's proposal fits in."
The following day Adrienne had the usual hysterical effusion from
her aunt, and after reading over both these letters to her uncle, he
advised her to go over for a week or two.
"And don't be miserable, my dear child, over that old Château, but be
thankful that your aunt will no longer have such an incubus."
"Oh, Uncle Derrick," said Adrienne with a laugh and a sigh, "you don't
know its charms. It will be a hard wrench to me to say good-bye to it.
I am still hoping it may be saved. I have been calculating the time. If
Cousin Guy received my letter, he might be on the way home."
"I believe he went away to make it easy for your aunt. I know he thinks
she is mistaken in living on there; and when he is at hand, she bleeds
him, and convinces herself that he will not see her turned out."
So in a very few days' time, Adrienne crossed the Channel once more.
She could leave her uncle with an easy mind for a week or two. He was a
man who was always occupied, and he told her that he had a good deal of
business to see to in town, connected with his brother's estate.
The glories of an early autumn were tinting the trees and hedges, and
wrapping the woods and distant hills in a golden haze, when Adrienne
arrived at her destination.
She had an unpleasant moment or two at the station, for Monsieur and
Madame Bouverie were seeing friends off in the train for Orleans.
Madame Bouverie affected not to see Adrienne at first and called out in
her shrill French voice:
"Au revoir, Nancie; next time you visit us, you will find us
comfortably installed in the Château, I hope. Ah! What a work is before
us, bringing that mouldy old place up to date, but we shall do it.
Inside and out you will be astonished at the metamorphosis!" Then with
a triumphant smile she turned and nodded affably to Adrienne.
"You have returned to help your aunt pack up. So glad to see you."
Adrienne felt her bow was stiff; she passed out to where the car was
waiting for her with hot indignation in her heart. But as she passed
along the familiar lanes, and noted the tiny green shuttered houses,
the purple bloom of the grapes on the sloping hills, and heard once
more the melodious bells of the oxen passing along with their loads,
she said to herself with a little glow within her:
"This has become my second home. How I love it all!"
It was a lovely afternoon; she glided up the old avenue, and noted the
golden tints on the trees, and then came upon the old Château mellow
and stately still. Tea was on the terrace and her aunt and Bertha
Preston were both waiting to welcome her.
Nothing marred the warmth of that welcome. Adrienne felt that her aunt
was really attached to her, and old Pierre hovered about with a pleased
smile on his withered face. He had gathered a dish of golden plums in
honour of her return and she turned to thank him with her bright smile,
but was rather taken aback to see his old eyes fill with tears. He
hobbled off, furtively brushing the sleeve of his coat across his eyes.
To Adrienne it seemed impossible that the old Château was going to pass
away from the de Beaudesserts, and certainly her aunt seemed strangely
unaware of the fact. She was all smiles and graciousness, telling
Adrienne bits of local news, and asking with a little sympathy in her
tone after her brother.
"It does not do to be bound up so entirely in one another as he and Tom
were," she said with a sigh; "they were two inseparables! Of course
Derrick must miss Tom tremendously."
"Yes, I could not bear to leave him; but he will be in London for a
week or two over business matters, and I shall soon be back again."
The Countess shook her head at her:
"I am going to introduce you to Orleans society, and shall not let you
go in a hurry. I have told Miss Preston of some plans I have in my
head."
"When are you going?" Adrienne asked.
"As soon as you can get me packed. I don't like autumn in the country,
and the fall of the leaf is not healthy."
"Have you heard from Cousin Guy?"
"Not for weeks. He is always a bad correspondent. It is most
inconsiderate of him staying away at this juncture, when I specially
want him. I do not know where he is, or what he is doing. I have only
his banker's address."
After tea, Adrienne went up to her room and Bertha accompanied her.
She settled herself down in a big easy-chair by the window for a
good talk. The Countess had gone to her room to turn out some of her
wardrobes ready for Adrienne's inspection. Annette went with her to
help her.
"My dear Adrienne, your aunt is a marvel. She can turn from
disagreeables and forget all about them within ten minutes. We had
awful scenes this morning with Pierre and his family. It appears that
Monsieur Bouverie has been interviewing them and asking them if the
Countess has given them notice to leave. He told them he would not
require their services, and he hoped to take possession of the Château
on the fifteenth of next month. That will be barely three weeks from
to-day. They all arrived up in your aunt's room in tears. She got very
agitated, and alarmed, dissolved into tears herself and then waved them
all away.
"' The Count will be back. He'll put things all right. You need not be
afraid. I leave you as usual to take care of the Château in my absence.
Monsieur Bouverie is trying to frighten you. You really must not come
and upset me like this. My heart won't stand it. The sooner I am in
Orleans the better. Mademoiselle is coming to take me there."
"She then cheered up, and has been extra cheerful all day. Can you
understand her? Monsieur Bouverie is absolutely determined, and within
his rights, he tells me, to take the Château on the fifteenth of
October."
"It's all perfectly dreadful," said Adrienne; "I can understand Aunt
Cecily's mind a little. She has always been under dread of this time
coming, but she has slipped through so many of her troubles that
she expects to slip through this. And even I don't believe Monsieur
Bouverie will be successful in wresting the property from us. I somehow
think that Cousin Guy will prevent it."
"Has your cousin been playing a game?" Bertha asked. "Because the
Bouveries talk of him and think of him as an indolent dreamy fool, a
good farmer, but with no love for his old house, and with no intention
of saving it. I should call him a masterful, keen-witted man, who would
let nobody get the better of him in business matters!"
"Yes," said Adrienne; "that is him. And I rely upon him to return
in time to circumvent the Bouveries. I am not going to make myself
miserable before it is necessary. Let us enjoy these lovely days,
Bertha."
"My dear, I must be off to-morrow. But I shall be at Le Sourge for a
week or two yet. I have to pack up too. We shall see each other, I
hope, several times before you leave."
The rest of the evening passed quietly. The Countess talked much of
Orleans and of her flat, and from hints she let drop, and from a little
confidence on Bertha's part, Adrienne was made aware that her aunt
intended to make a match for her with a certain young Baron in Orleans.