MRS. WALKER'S VISIT
The meeting of the two girls who loved George seemed destined to end
abruptly. On the first occasion Lesbia had broken short the interview
at Henley, and on the second Maud had hastened away from Rose Cottage.
Lesbia wondered that she had not remained to talk further, and was
rather anxious when she remembered that Maud had left with a threat on
her lips. Miss Ellis was clever and cunning and reckless, and in one
way or another might work mischief. Not that Lesbia saw any chance of
her doing any, since she knew too much for Maud's peace of mind.
Without doubt what Canning had discovered was true, else Maud would
not have surrendered so easily. Lesbia thought until she was weary
about the matter, and especially how Canning could have discovered the
truth so speedily. She would have asked him point-blank in spite of
his prohibition, but that he was in London. And as yet he had not
written to tell where he was hiding.
However, as things stood, there was no doubt that Maud would keep her
promise, and that George was safe. On the day after the stockbroker's
niece had paid her visit, Lesbia wrote a long letter to Walker, and
detailed all that Canning had discovered and also narrated its effect
on Maud Ellis. Further, she gave George to understand how she had been
compelled to write the letter of dismissal, and ended up with a fond
wish that her lover should come and see her at once. When this letter
was posted Lesbia began to dream of Walker's speedy return, and
haunted the garden in order to see his boat coming swiftly down the
river.
But the boat never came, nor did any letter from George. Day after day
Lesbia watched the stream: watched also the postman, but in every case
she was disappointed. Walker must have received the letter, else it
would have been returned through the Dead Letter Office, so it was
strange, seeing how she had explained matters, that he did not appear.
Or at least he might have written. The girl wearying for love grew
peaked and wan, much to the distress of Tim, who could not understand.
Finally, Lesbia told him the whole story, and sent him over to the
cottage at Medmenham to see if Walker had received the letter. Tim
returned somewhat downcast.
"Masther Garge has been in London these six days," said Tim, "and the
misthress--his blissid mother, towld me she'd sint the letter to him.
He's got it, me dear, but the divil knows why he doesn't write ye the
scratch av a pen. Augh, me dear, nivir trouble him again. Sure there's
more fish in the say nor ivir come out av that same."
"George is the only man in the world for me," said Lesbia firmly,
although the tears were in her eyes, "and I'll never give him up,
until I hear him say that he loves another. This is Miss Ellis's
work."
"Och murder, me dear, it's a baste she is entoirely. But from what ye
towld me, Miss, ye drew the teeth av her."
"She went away with a threat," sighed Lesbia dismally. "She can't
force my George to marry her now; but evidently she can prevent his
returning to me as I want him to. Oh Tim, what am I to do now?"
"See Masther Garge and ask him plain, Miss."
"But I have not the money to go to London, and besides, I do not know
where George is stopping," protested Lesbia, wringing her hands.
"See his ould mother, the saints be good to her! for an iceberg she
is," suggested Tim after a pause. "Sure she'll tell ye where he is, me
dear."
"No, Tim, no. Mrs. Walker hates my father, and would rather die than
see her son become my husband."
"Hates the masther, is ut?" muttered the crooked little man frowning.
"And if so, me darlin' heart, why shud she come to see him?"
"Come to see him," echoed Lesbia staring, "why Mrs. Walker has never
been here to see my father in her life. I understood from George that
she hated my father. In that case she will never come here. If she did
come," sighed Lesbia, "I might soften her heart so that she might be
on my side. I am sure I could win her over."
"Well, Miss Lesbia, ye can but try, for the ould woman is coming here
to-morrow afternoon to see the masther."
"But he's away, Tim."
"Sure, Miss, he sint me the scratch av a pin sayin' he was coming back
this very day. I towld the ould woman, whin she axed me, so she's
coming to have a talk wid him. An' the divil will make a third wid
them two," muttered Tim crossing himself, "saints kape us from harm!"
Lesbia was much astonished at this news, as Mrs. Walker had never been
to Rose Cottage before, and moreover--on the word of her son--she both
despised and hated Mr. Hale. The girl wondered if the visit had
anything to do with the letter she had lately written to George.
Perhaps Maud's threat had meant that she would enlist Mrs. Walker on
her side to stop the marriage, since Maud herself, for obvious
reasons, was powerless to do so. But then, in any case, Mrs. Walker
disapproved of the marriage, so there was no need for Maud to
interfere. Also, if the letter had been forwarded to George in
London--and Lesbia saw no reason why it should not have been
forwarded--he must have received the same. If so, why did he not
reply, seeing that she had completely exonerated herself, and was
anxious to renew the engagement which for George's own sake she had
been forced to break? Poor Lesbia thought over these questions until
she was weary and her head ached, but she could find no reply. The
only thing to be done, was to wait until the formidable Mrs. Walker
arrived: then a few minutes' conversation with her might reveal the
reason of George's strange behaviour.
Mr. Hale duly returned, and seemed even angrier and more sullen than
he had been before he went away. He scarcely spoke to his daughter,
and several times he looked at her with positive dread in his usually
cold eyes. It appeared as though he considered Lesbia as a careless
child with a box of matches, who might at any moment set the house on
fire. Lesbia had a feeling that he was terribly angry with her, and
yet that this anger was mixed with a certain amount of dread. However,
he contented himself with looking daggers, and to avoid further
disturbances, she did not ask him any questions. But the house was
very uncomfortable. Then at breakfast next morning, on the day when
Mrs. Walker was expected, Hale surprised the girl by announcing an
invitation.
"I saw Lord Charvington when I was in town," said Hale, keeping his
pale eyes on his plate. "For some reason he chose to remember your
existence."
Lesbia gasped, and wondered if Charvington had told her father of the
money she had borrowed. In that case Hale would question her as to the
use she had made of it, and then her counterplot with Canning would
come to light with disastrous results. But Hale's further conversation
made it plain that Charvington had said nothing about the loan.
"He asked how you were," pursued Hale softly, and still keeping his
eyes on his plate, "and if you had grown up a pretty girl. He hasn't
seen you for a long time, remember. Considering how badly you have
behaved, Lesbia, I spoke better of you than you deserved, so
Charvington--prepare yourself for a surprise--has asked you to stop at
his country-house. He told me that his wife would send you the
invitation."
"It is very good of him," said Lesbia faintly. "But I really do not
want to go, father."
Hale looked up with a scowl. "Always opposition," he grumbled, "you
_shall_ go, child. If you won't marry Sargent, there will be a chance
of your making a good match when under Lady Charvington's wing. She
has daughters of her own, too, so you will have a very good time."
"Why should Lord Charvington ask me?"
"I can't say. . . . He suddenly seems to have remembered your
existence. Of course, as my daughter you are related to him. However,
the chance of a visit at such a country house is a very good one for
you, so get ready to start when the invitation comes. Do you want any
frocks, or----"
"No. I have everything," said Lesbia, rising; "after all perhaps the
change will do me good, and I should like to see a little of the
world."
"You will see plenty of it with Charvington and his wife. They are a
gay couple, and entertain largely. They are at their country seat near
Maidenhead for a week; but if you play your cards well Lady
Charvington may take you to London for the rest of the season."
Lesbia nodded and went into the garden. Here she sat on the bench
under the chestnut, and thought over the glittering prospect which was
now open to her. She loved George and was contented with the quiet
life, provided he shared it with her. But as he was absent and was
behaving so very strangely, she thought that it would be best to
plunge into society if only to forget her aching heart. And if George
would not marry her, it might be that she would meet with some other
man, who would take her away from the uncomfortable life with her
father. In her own heart Lesbia knew that she could love no one but
George Walker. Still she could not force him to marry her, and he
appeared to have accepted her letter of dismissal as final in spite of
the second epistle stating why she wrote the first. The poor girl felt
very sad and very lonely, and her tears rained down, salt and bitter,
as she sat a solitary figure under the glorious tree. The blackbird
was piping again, as he had done when George proposed; but it seemed
to her ears that the song was now sad. But that probably was mere
fancy.
At one o'clock Lesbia returned to the cottage, wondering why all these
troubles had come upon her. It really seemed as though Tim's idea
about the bad luck of the cross was true, for ever since she had
bestowed it on her lover there had been nothing but sorrow and
mystery. Even George had not escaped misfortune, since he had been
assaulted and robbed, and had lost his situation through being accused
unjustly of a crime he had never committed. But Lesbia was a reader of
fairy tales, and remembered that the prince and princess always have
much grief before peace and joy arrive, so she hoped that in some
way--she could not see how--the bad luck which was upon her and George
would pass away leaving them married and rich and happy. But, at
present, it must be confessed that there did not appear to be much
chance of such good fortune.
"The ould woman has come this very minit," whispered Tim, meeting the
girl at the back door. "I've put her in the parlour, but the masther
is out."
"My father is certain to come into luncheon," said Lesbia hurriedly.
"Av coorse he is," muttered Tim, "a mighty dainty man he is fur the
inside av him. But she's axing for you, Miss, and----"
"I'll go to her," interrupted Lesbia, "meanwhile, Tim, lay another
place at the table. I daresay Mrs. Walker is hungry."
With these instructions Lesbia sought the small parlour, and entered
to find it occupied by a modern Lady Macbeth. Mrs. Walker clothed in
rich but funereal-looking garments of the deepest black was seated
majestically on the sofa. Without rising she raised a pair of piercing
eyes to look at the girl, and a brief expression of surprise flitted
across her impassive face. She had scarcely expected to find the girl
so beautiful, as she had always taken her son's enthusiastic
descriptions with a grain of salt. However, she privately admitted
that George was right for once and she greeted the girl with stiff
kindness. And indeed it was hard even for a lady of Mrs. Walker's hard
nature to be angry with Lesbia, who looked such a child, and who
behaved so sweetly.
"I am very glad to see you," said Mrs. Walker, looking anxiously into
the girl's delicate face. "You remind me of someone who--no, I can't
recall of whom you remind me. Still--" she searched anxiously--"you
are very like someone I knew."
"Perhaps my mother," Lesbia ventured to remark. "My late nurse,
Bridget Burke, told me I closely resembled my mother."
"I never met your mother," said Mrs. Walker, dropping Lesbia's hand
quickly and becoming stiffer than ever. "Your father and I were never
friends, my dear. I should not be here to-day, save that I have come
to ask him about some business connected with money I expect to
inherit. Also," added Mrs. Walker unexpectedly, "I wanted to see you.
George had talked much of you, my child, and seems to have loved you
greatly. I can't blame him, and the wonder is that he should give you
up."
Lesbia clasped her small hands and sank into a chair, her face white
and her eyes widely open. "George has never given me up," she said
faintly. "I wrote and told him why I was forced to send him the first
letter, and----"
"Yes, yes!" Mrs. Walker waved a beautifully-gloved hand. "I was in
London the other day--in fact I took your letter to George. He showed
it to me and told me everything."
"And what did you say?"
Mrs. Walker's deep, black brows drew together. "Of course the whole
thing is rubbish," she said harshly, "and only a love-sick girl like
Maud Ellis would act in that way. I suppose much must be forgiven her,
as she really loves my son. But after her behaviour, I shall never
consent to her marrying him. No! no! That would never do. Especially,
now that we know her uncle is such a rogue. I wanted George to tell
the police, but he refused."
Lesbia cared very little for the fate of Tait. What she much desired
to know was her own. "You said that George has ceased to care for me,"
she remarked with a pale smile. "I don't understand."
Mrs. Walker gave her a pitying look. "Nor do I, now that I have seen
you, my dear. I don't like your father--I never did, and I would
rather have died than have seen George marrying his daughter. Your
looks and nature have made me change my mind. There is nothing of your
father about you. Had I seen you before----" Mrs. Walker broke off and
shook her stately head, "but it is too late. George will not renew the
engagement."
"Oh, I can't believe that," cried the girl weeping and trembling.
"Strange," muttered the elder woman, "you have been quite a heroine in
clearing George's character, for which I am greatly obliged to you.
Yet here you are crying like a schoolgirl."
"I love him so much: I love him so deeply."
"My poor child, it is the fate of women to have their hearts broken. I
do not know why George still refuses to renew the engagement in the
face of your letter, but he does. Here," Mrs. Walker took an envelope
out of her bag and handed it to the shaking girl, "you can read his
decision in his own handwriting. He asked me to give you this."
With great delicacy she turned away her head, while Lesbia tore open
the envelope with shaking hands. There were only a few lines, but
these intimated plainly that George had accepted his dismissal, and
would not seek to renew the engagement. "I love you still, my
dearest," wrote Walker in conclusion, "but Fate wills that we must
part for ever." Then there were a few tender words, and the epistle
ended abruptly, as though the writer could not trust his emotions.
Lesbia read the lines, folded the letter and replaced it in the
envelope which she put into her pocket. Her eyes were dry now, and her
white face was flushed with colour. With a deep sigh she touched the
elder woman on the shoulder, "I understand," she said calmly.
Mrs. Walker, whose sympathies--remarkably in so cold a woman--were now
entirely with Lesbia, grew snappy to conceal her emotion. "I don't,"
she said acidly, "and when George returns to Medmenham I shall have an
explanation with him. He's a fool."
"No," said Lesbia, her face growing even a deeper red. "Can't you see
that George is only acting in this way to save me?"
"To save you from what?" asked Mrs. Walker shortly.
"I don't know. I can't say," Lesbia spoke more to herself than to her
visitor. "But I feel sure that George wrote this letter as I wrote my
first one to him. I wrote to save him, and now he refuses to renew our
engagement to save me. I don't understand, still--oh I am sure that
everything will come right. I trust in God."
"You do well to do so," said Mrs. Walker gravely, "for only He can
help you, my child. I am thoroughly puzzled, and know not what to
say."
"Say nothing: do nothing," cried Lesbia eagerly. "Things will work out
to a happy end in their due time."
"You are sure of that?"
"I am certain."
"Then," said Mrs. Walker grimly, "you must have a sixth sense which I
do not possess. However, I am glad that you have not given way to
hysteria. You are a brave girl, and I would rather have you for my
daughter-in-law than I would any one else, in spite of your father.
There," Mrs. Walker bent forward and actually kissed the girl's lips.
"That shows I mean what I say."
"Oh!" Lesbia returned the kiss, blushing divinely, "George said that
you hated me, and----"
"How could I hate a girl I had never seen?" snapped Mrs. Walker,
ashamed of her momentary humanity. "I hate your father, and--well
there, say no more about the matter. I hope with all my heart that
things will turn out well for you and George, as you appear to think
they will. Meanwhile while we are waiting for your father, tell me
about the amethyst cross."
Lesbia started to her feet in astonishment. "The cross," she echoed.
"I have lost it. You know that I gave it to----"
"Yes! Yes!" Mrs. Walker waved her hand impatiently. "I know about the
robbery and how no one can find the cross. It must be found,
nevertheless. But I wish to learn exactly how it came into your
possession. George told me something about the matter, but like a man
he told it very badly. For this reason I have come to see you, as well
as Mr. Hale, whom I detest," added Mrs. Walker severely. "Where did
you get the cross?"
"From my mother. That is, the cross belonged to her. She left it to my
nurse Bridget Burke----"
"Where is she?"
"Dead. She died some time ago."
"Unlucky," muttered Mrs. Walker with a dark look. "Well?"
"My mother told Bridget to give it to me, and to tell me that I was
never to part with it save to the man I loved. Then you know"--Lesbia
blushed again--"I gave it to George."
"Yes. I know of that and of the loss. I said so before. But how did
the cross come into your mother's possession?"
Lesbia shook her head. "I really cannot tell you."
Mrs. Walker frowned again, and turned her steely eyes towards the
door. Her quick ears had caught a soft foot-fall, and her quick eyes
had seen the half-open door move. "Come in, Mr. Hale," she said
loudly, "we are saying nothing which you cannot hear."
Hale, who apparently had been listening, entered, looking perfectly
cool and composed. "The cross did not belong to Lesbia's mother," he
said quietly, but the look in his eyes as they rested on Mrs. Walker
was not pleasant.