ON THE ROAD.
Miss Polehampton had, of course, written to Mr. and Mrs. Colwyn when she
made up her mind that Janetta was to be removed from school; and two or
three letters had been interchanged before that eventful day on which
Margaret declared that if Janetta went she should go too. Margaret had
been purposely kept in the dark until almost the last moment, for Miss
Polehampton did not in the least wish to make a scandal, and annoyed as
she was by Miss Adair's avowed preference for Janetta, she had arranged
a neat little plan by which Miss Colwyn was to go away "for change of
air," and be transferred to a school at Worthing kept by a relation of
her own at the beginning of the following term. These plans had been
upset by a foolish and ill-judged letter from Mrs. Colwyn to her
stepdaughter, which Janetta had not been able to keep from Margaret's
eyes. This letter was full of reproaches to Janetta for giving so much
trouble to her friends; "for, of course," Mrs. Colwyn wrote, "Miss
Polehampton's concern for your health is all a blind in order to get you
away: and if it hadn't been for Miss Adair taking you up, she would have
been only too glad to keep you. But knowing Miss Adair's position, she
sees very clearly that it isn't fit for you to be friends with her, and
so she wants to send you away."
This was in the main true, but Janetta, in the blithe confidence of
youth, would never have discovered it but for that letter. Together she
and Margaret consulted over it, for when Margaret saw Janetta crying,
she almost forced the letter from her hand; and then it was that Miss
Adair vindicated her claim to social superiority. She went straight to
Miss Polehampton and demanded that Janetta should remain; and when the
schoolmistress refused to alter her decision, she calmly replied that in
that case _she_ should go home too. Miss Polehampton was an obstinate
woman, and would not concede the point; and Lady Caroline, on learning
the state of affairs, at once perceived that it was impossible to leave
Margaret at the school where open warfare had been declared. She
accordingly brought both girls away with her, arranging to send Janetta
to her own home next morning.
"You will stay to luncheon, dear, and I will drive you over to
Beaminster at three o'clock," she said to Janetta at breakfast. "No
doubt you are anxious to see your own people."
Janetta looked as if she might find it difficult to reply, but Margaret
interposed a remark--as usual at the right moment.
"We will practice our duets this morning--if Janetta likes, that is; and
we can have a walk in the garden too. Shall we have the landau, mamma?"
"The victoria, I think, dear," said Lady Caroline, placidly. "Your
father wants you to ride with him this afternoon, so I shall have the
pleasure of Miss Colwyn's society in my drive."
Margaret assented; but Janetta became suddenly aware, by a flash of keen
feminine intuition, that Lady Caroline had some reason for wishing to go
with her alone, and that she had purposely made the arrangement that she
spoke of. However, there was nothing to displease her in this, for Lady
Caroline had been most kind and considerate to her, so far, and she was
innocently disposed to believe in the cordiality and sincerity of every
one who behaved with common civility.
So she spent a pleasant morning, singing with Margaret, loitering about
the garden with Mr. Adair, while Margaret and Sir Philip gathered
roses, and enjoying to the full all the sweet influences of peace,
refinement, and prosperity by which she was surrounded.
Margaret left her in the afternoon with rather a hasty kiss, and an
assurance that she would see her again at dinner. Janetta tried to
remind her that by that time she would have left the Court, but Margaret
did not or would not hear. The tears came into the girl's eyes as her
friend disappeared.
"Never mind, dear," said Lady Caroline, who was observing her closely,
"Margaret has forgotten at what hour you were going and I would not
remind her--it would spoil her pleasure in her ride. We will arrange for
you to come to us another day when you have seen your friends at home."
"Thank you," said Janetta. "It was only that she did not seem to
remember that I was going--I had meant to say good-bye."
"Exactly. She thinks that I am going to bring you back this afternoon.
We will talk about it as we go, dear. Suppose you were to put on your
hat now. The carriage will be here in ten minutes."
Janetta prepared for her departure in a somewhat bewildered spirit. She
did not know precisely what Lady Caroline meant. She even felt a little
nervous as she took her place in the victoria and cast a last look at
the stately house in which she had spent some nineteen or twenty
pleasant hours. It was Lady Caroline who spoke first.
"We shall miss your singing to-night," she said, amiably. "Mr. Adair was
looking forward to some more duets. Another time, perhaps----"
"I am always pleased to sing," said Janetta, brightening at this
address.
"Yes--ye--es," said Lady Caroline, with a doubtful little drawl. "No
doubt: one always likes to do what one can do so well; but--I confess I
am not so musical as my husband or my daughter. I must explain why dear
Margaret did not say good bye to you, Miss Colwyn. I allowed her to
remain in the belief that she was to see you again to-night, in order
that she might not be depressed during her ride by the thought of
parting with you. It is always my principle to make the lives of those
dear to me as happy as possible," said Margaret's mother, piously.
"And if Margaret had been depressed during her ride, Mr. Adair and Sir
Philip might have suffered some depression also, and that would be a
great pity."
"Oh, yes," said Janetta. But she felt chilled, without knowing why.
"I must take you into my confidence," said Lady Caroline, in her softest
voice. "Mr. Adair has plans for our dear Margaret. Sir Philip Ashley's
property adjoins our own: he is of good principles, kind-hearted, and
intellectual: he is well off, nice-looking, and of a suitable age--he
admires Margaret very much. I need say no more, I am sure."
Again she looked keenly at Janetta's face, but she read there nothing
but interest and surprise.
"Oh--does Margaret know?" she asked.
"She feels more than she knows," said Lady Caroline, discreetly. "She is
in the first stage of--of--emotion. I did not want the afternoon's
arrangements to be interfered with."
"Oh, no! especially on _my_ account," said Janetta, sincerely.
"When I go home I shall talk quietly to Margaret," pursued Lady
Caroline, "and tell her that you will come back another day, that your
duties called you home--they do, I am sure, dear Miss Colwyn--and that
you could not return with me when you were so much wanted."
"I'm afraid I am not much wanted," said Janetta, with a sigh; "but I
daresay it is my duty to go home----"
"I am sure it is," Lady Caroline declared; "and duty is so high and holy
a thing, dear, that you will never regret the performance of it."
It occurred dimly to Janetta at that point that Lady Caroline's views of
duty might possibly differ from her own; but she did not venture to say
so.
"And, of course, you will never repeat to Margaret----"
Lady Caroline did not complete her sentence. The coachman suddenly
checked the horses' speed: for some unknown reason he actually stopped
short in the very middle of the country road between Helmsley Court and
Beaminster. His mistress uttered a little cry of alarm.
"What is the matter, Steel?"
The footman dismounted and touched his hat.
"I'm afraid there has been an accident, my lady," he said, as
apologetically, as if he were responsible for the accident.
"Oh! Nothing horrible, I hope!" said Lady Caroline, drawing out her
smelling-bottle.
"It's a carriage accident, my lady. Leastways, a cab. The 'orse is lying
right across the road, my lady."
"Speak to the people, Steel," said her ladyship, with great dignity.
"They must not be allowed to block up the road in this way."
"May I get out?" said Janetta, eagerly. "There is a lady lying on the
path, and some people bathing her face. Now they are lifting her up--I
am sure they ought not to lift her up in that way--oh, please, I must go
just for one minute!" And, without waiting for a reply, she stepped, out
of the victoria and sped to the side of the woman who had been hurt.
"Very impulsive and undisciplined," said Lady Caroline to herself, as
she leaned back and held the smelling-bottle to her own delicate nose.
"I am glad I have got her out of the house so soon. Those men were wild
about her singing. Sir Philip disapproved of her presence, but he was
charmed by her voice, I could see that; and poor, dear Reginald was
positively absurd about her voice. And dear Margaret does _not_ sing so
well--it is no use pretending that she does--and Sir Philip is trembling
on the verge--oh, yes, I am sure that I have been very wise. What is
that girl doing now?"
The victoria moved forward a little, so that Lady Caroline could obtain
a clearer view of what was going on. The vehicle which caused the
obstruction--evidently a hired fly from an inn--was uninjured, but the
horse had fallen between the shafts and would never rise again. The
occupants of the fly--a lady, and a much younger man, perhaps her
son--had got out, and the lady had then turned faint, Lady Caroline
heard, but was not in any way hurt. Janetta was kneeling by the side of
the lady--kneeling in the dust, without any regard to the freshness of
her cotton frock, by the way--and had already placed her in the right
position, and was ordering the half-dozen people who had collected to
stand back and give her air. Lady Caroline watched her movements and
gestures with placid amusement, and went so far as to send Steel with
the offer of her smelling salts; but as this offer was rejected she
felt that nothing else could be done. So she sat and looked on
critically.
The woman--Lady Caroline was hardly inclined to call her a lady,
although she did not exactly know why--was at present of a ghastly
paleness, but her features were finely cut, and showed traces of former
beauty. Her hair was grey, with rebellious waves in it, but her eyebrows
were still dark. She was dressed in black, with a good deal of lace
about her; and on her ungloved hand Lady Caroline's keen sight enabled
her to distinguish some very handsome diamond rings. The effect of the
costume was a little spoiled by a large gaudy fan, of violent rainbow
hues, which hung at her side; and perhaps it was this article of
adornment which decided Lady Caroline in her opinion of the woman's
social status. But about the man she was equally positive in a different
way. He _was_ a gentleman: there could be no doubt of that. She put up
her eye-glass and gazed at him with interest. She almost thought that
she had seen him somewhere before.
A handsome man, indeed, and a gentleman; but, oh, what an ill-tempered
one, apparently! He was dark, with fine features, and black hair with a
slight inclination to wave or curl (as far at least as could be judged
when the extremely well-cropped state of his head was taken into
consideration); and from these indications Lady Caroline judged him to
be "the woman's" son. He was tall, muscular, and active looking: it was
the way in which his black eyebrows were bent above his eyes which made
the observer think him ill-tempered, for his manner and his words
expressed anxiety, not anger. But that frown, which must have been
habitual, gave him a distinctly ill-humored look.
At last the lady opened her eyes, and drank a little water, and sat up.
Janetta rose from her knees, and turned to the young man with a smile.
"She will soon be better now," she said. "I am afraid there is nothing
else that I can do--and I think I must go on."
"I am very much obliged to you for your kind assistance," said the
gentleman, but without any abatement of the gloom of his expression. He
gave Janetta a keen look--almost a bold look--Lady Caroline thought, and
then smiled a little, not very pleasantly. "Allow me to take you to your
carriage."
Janetta blushed, as if she were minded to say that it was not her
carriage; but returned to the victoria, and was handed to her seat by
the young man, who then raised his hat with an elaborate flourish which
was not exactly English. Indeed, it occurred to Lady Caroline at once
that there was something French about both the travelers. The lady with
the frizzled grey hair, the black lace dress and mantel, the gaudy blue
and scarlet fan, was quite foreign in appearance; the young man with the
perfectly fitting frock-coat, the tall hat, the flower in his
button-hole, was--in spite of his perfectly English accent--foreign too.
Lady Caroline was cosmopolitan enough to feel an access of greater
interest in the pair in consequence.
"They have sent to the nearest inn for a horse," said Janetta, as the
carriage moved on; "and I dare say they will not have long to wait."
"Was the lady hurt?"
"No, only shaken. She is subject to fainting fits, and the accident
quite upset her nerves, her son said."
"Her son?"
"The gentleman called her mother."
"Oh! You did not hear their name, I suppose?"
"No. There was a big B on their traveling bag."
"B--B--?" said Lady Caroline, thoughtfully. "I don't know any one in
this neighborhood whose name begins with B, except the Bevans. They must
have been merely passing through; and yet the young man's face seemed
familiar to me."
Janetta shook her head. "I never saw them before," she said.
"He has a very bold and unpleasant expression," Lady Caroline remarked,
decidedly. "It spoils him entirely: otherwise he is a handsome man."
The girl made no answer. She knew, as well as Lady Caroline, that she
had been stared at in a manner that was not quite agreeable to her, and
yet she did not like to endorse that lady's condemnation of the
stranger. For he was certainly very nice-looking--and he had been so
kind to his mother that he could not be entirely bad--and to her also
his face was vaguely familiar. Could he belong to Beaminster?
As she sat and meditated, the tall spires of Beaminster Cathedral came
into sight, and a few minutes brought the carriage across the grey
stone bridge and down the principal street of the quaint old place which
called itself a city, but was really neither more nor less than a quiet
country town. Here Lady Caroline turned to her young guest with a
question--"You live in Gwynne Street, I believe, my dear?"
"Yes, at number ten, Gwynne Street," said Janetta, suddenly starting and
feeling a little uncomfortable. The coachman evidently knew the address
already, for at that moment he turned the horse's heads to the left, and
the carriage rolled down a narrow side-street, where the tall red brick
houses had a mean and shabby aspect, and seemed as if constructed to
keep out sun and air as much as possible.
Janetta always felt the closeness and the shabbiness a little when she
first came home, even from school, but when she came from Helmsley Court
they struck her with redoubled force. She had never thought before how
dull the street was, nor noticed that the railings were broken down in
front of the door with the brass-plate that bore her father's name, nor
that the window-curtains were torn and the windows sadly in need of
washing. The little flight of stone steps that led from the iron gate to
the door was also very dirty; and the servant girl, whose head appeared
against the area railings as the carriage drove up, was more untidy,
more unkempt, in appearance than ever Janetta could have expected. "We
can't be rich, but we might be _clean_!" she said to herself in a
subdued frenzy of impatience, as she fancied (quite unjustly) that she
saw a faint smile pass over Lady Caroline's delicate, impassive face. "No
wonder she thinks me an unfit friend for dear Margaret. But--oh, there
is my dear, darling father! Well, nobody can say anything against him at
any rate!" And Janetta's face beamed with sudden joy as she saw Mr.
Colwyn coming down the dirty steps to the ricketty little iron gate, and
Lady Caroline, who knew the surgeon by sight, nodded to him with
friendly condescension.
"How are you, Mr. Colwyn?" she said, graciously. "I have brought your
daughter home, you see, and I hope you will not scold her for what has
been _my_ daughter's fault--not your's."
"I am very glad to see Janetta, under any circumstances," said Mr.
Colwyn, gravely, as he raised his hat. He was a tall spare man, in a
shabby coat, with a careworn aspect, and kindly, melancholy eyes.
Janetta noticed with a pang that his hair was greyer than it had been
when last she went back to school.
"We shall be glad to see her again at Helmsley Court," said Lady
Caroline. "No, I won't get out, thank you. I have to get back to tea.
Your daughter's box is in front. I was to tell you from Miss
Polehampton, Mr. Colwyn, that her friend at Worthing would be glad of
Miss Colwyn's services after the holidays."
"I am much obliged to your ladyship," said Mr. Colwyn, with grave
formality. "I am not sure that I shall let my daughter go."
"Won't you? Oh, but she ought to have all possible advantages! And can
you tell me, Mr. Colwyn, by any chance, _who_ are the people whom we
passed on the road to Beaminster--an oldish lady in black and a young
man with very dark hair and eyes? They had B on their luggage, I
believe."
Mr. Colwyn looked surprised.
"I think I can tell you," he said, quietly. "They were on their way from
Beaminster to Brand Hall. The young man was a cousin of my wife's: his
name is Wyvis Brand, and the lady in black was his mother. They have
come home after an absence of nearly four-and-twenty years."
Lady Caroline was too polite to say what she really felt--that she was
sorry to hear it.