Mr. Alexander Milliken arrived punctually upon the morrow.
He was a tall, gaunt, weak-kneed man, with a prominent nose and eyes
that required the constant use of glasses. Harriet Brandt could not at
first determine his relationship to the Baroness, who received him with
one of the rough kisses she was wont to bestow on Bobby and herself.
He established himself in the Red House as if he had been a member
of the family, and Harriet frequently surprised him engaged in
confidential talk with their hostess, which was immediately stopped on
her arrival. She perceived that Miss Wynward had an evident dislike for
the new-comer, and never addressed him but in the most formal manner
and when it was strictly necessary. The Baroness did not go so often to
the manufactory after Mr. Milliken’s arrival, but often shut herself
up with him in a room with locked doors, after which Mr. Milliken
would be much occupied with secretarial work, writing letters with his
short-sighted eyes held close to the paper. He was a source of much
curiosity to Harriet Brandt, but he need not have been. He was only
that very common and unclean animal--the jackal to Madame Gobelli’s
lion.
He was poor and she was rich, so he did all the dirty work which
she was unable, or afraid, to do for herself. Mr. Milliken called
himself an author and an actor, but he was neither. On account of his
accidental likeness to a popular actor, he had once been engaged to
play the part of his double at a West-end theatre, but with the waning
of the piece, Mr. Milliken’s fame evaporated, and he had never obtained
an engagement since. His assumed authorship was built on the same
scale. He had occasionally penned anonymous articles for newspapers,
which had been inserted without pay, but no one in the literary or
any other world knew him by name or by fame. Of late he had attached
himself to Madame Gobelli, writing her letters for her (of doing which
she was almost incapable), and occasionally dabbling in dirtier work,
which she was too cunning to do for herself. Miss Wynward could have
told tales of abusive epistles which had been sent through his hand to
people, whom the Baroness considered had offended her--of anonymous
letters also, which if traced would have landed them both in the County
Court. But Mr. Milliken was out at elbows. He found it very convenient
to hang about the Red House for weeks together, to the saving of his
pocket--receiving douceurs sometimes in actual coin of the realm at
the hands of his benefactress, and making himself useful to her in any
way in return. Lately, notwithstanding her grand promises to Harriet
Brandt of introductions to lords, and princes, the Baroness had thought
it would be a very good thing for her favourite jackal if the young
heiress took a fancy for him, and gave him full leave in consequence
to go in and conquer if he could. She would praise his appearance and
his qualities to the girl, before his very face--calling attention
to the fact of what a clever creature he was, and what a fine figure
he possessed, and how well he was connected, and advising her in her
coarse fashion to cultivate his acquaintance better. She even descended
to having visions in the broad daylight, and prophesying the future,
for them both.
“’Arriet!” she would suddenly exclaim, “I see a man standing be’ind
you!”
“O! gracious!” the girl would reply, jumping in her seat, “I wish you
would not say such things, Madame!”
“Rubbish! Why shouldn’t I say ’em, if they’re there? Stop a bit! Let me
see ’im plainly! ’E’s got dark ’air, slightly sprinkled with grey--a
fine nose--deep-set eyes, with bushy eyebrows--no ’air on ’is face--a
tall figure, and long ’ands and feet! ’E’s living in this world too! Do
you know anybody that answers to the description?”
“No!” replied the girl, though she recognised it at once as being meant
for Mr. Milliken.
“Well! if you don’t know ’im now, you will before long, but it’s my
belief you’ve met. And mark my words! you and ’e will be closely
connected in life! I shouldn’t wonder if ’e turns out to be your future
’usband!”
“O! nonsense!” exclaimed Harriet, trying to speak lightly, “I’m not
going to marry anybody, thank you, Madame Gobelli, unless it’s one of
the princes you promised to introduce me to.”
“O! princes are all rubbish!” replied the Baroness, forgetting her
former assertions, “they’ve none of them got any money, and yours
wouldn’t go far enough for ’em. _They_ want a gal with something like
five thousand a year at ’er back. I’d rather ’ave an Englishman any
day, than a dirty little German prince!”
But Harriet Brandt was not the sort of woman to be forced into an
intimacy against her will. Born under an hereditary curse, as she
undoubtedly had been, and gifted with the fatal propensity of injuring,
rather than benefiting those whom she took a fancy for, she was an
epicure in her taste for her fellow creatures, and would not have
permitted Mr. Alexander Milliken to take a liberty with her, had he
been the last man left upon the earth. She avoided his society as much
as it was possible to do, without being rude to her hostess, but as
the Baroness was continually calling her to her side, it was difficult
to do so. Meanwhile the days went on very differently from what she
had anticipated when coming to the Red House. Bobby was languid and
indifferent to everything but hanging about the place where she might
have located herself--sitting on the sofa beside her, with his heavy
head on her shoulder, and his weak arm wound about her waist. Miss
Wynward feared he must have contracted some species of malaria at
the seaside, and Harriet could see for herself that the lad was much
altered from the time when they first met--the Baroness alone, either
from ignorance or obstinacy, declaring that nothing ailed him but
laziness, and she would give him the stick if he didn’t exert himself
more. Sometimes Harriet took him out with her--for a drive into the
country, or to a concert or _matinée_ in London, but what was that
compared to the entertainment of Royalty and Aristocracy, which she
had been promised. And she had not heard a word from Captain Pullen,
though her first letter of appeal had been succeeded by two or three
more. Such a rebuff would have driven another girl to despondency
or tears, but that was not the effect it had on Harriet Brandt. If
you throw a bone to a tigress and then try to take it away, she does
not weep--she fights for her prey. Harriet Brandt, deprived of the
flatteries and attentions of Captain Pullen, did not weep either, but
set her pretty teeth together, and determined in her own mind that
if she were to give him up she would know the reason why. She was
reckless--she did not care what she did to obtain it, but she would
learn the truth of his defalcation if she travelled down to Aldershot
for the purpose. She was in this mood one day, when the maidservant who
answered the door came to tell her that a lady was in the drawing-room,
and desired to see her. The Baroness had gone out that afternoon and
taken Mr. Milliken with her, so that Harriet was alone. She eagerly
demanded the name of her visitor.
“The lady didn’t give me her name,” replied the servant, “but she asked
if Miss Brandt was at home, plain enough!”
“Go back and say that I will be with her in a minute!” said Harriet.
She had decided in her own mind that the stranger must be Margaret
Pullen, bringing her, doubtless, some news of her brother-in-law. She
only stayed to smoothe her hair, which was rather disordered from Bobby
laying his head on her shoulder, before, with a heightened colour, she
entered the drawing-room. What was her surprise to encounter, instead
of Mrs. Pullen, Miss Leyton--Miss Leyton, who had been so reserved and
proud with her at Heyst, and who even though she had sought her out at
the Red House, looked as reserved and proud as before. Harriet advanced
with an extended hand, but Elinor Leyton did not appear to see the
action, as she coldly bowed and sank into her chair again.
Harriet was rather taken aback, but managed to stammer out,
“I am very glad to see you, Miss Leyton! I thought you and Mrs. Pullen
had forgotten all about me since leaving Heyst.”
“We had not forgotten, Miss Brandt,” replied Elinor, “but we had a
great deal of trouble to encounter in the death of Mrs. Pullen’s
baby, and that put everything else for a while out of our minds.
But--but--lately, we have had reason to remember your existence more
forcibly than before!”
She spoke slowly and with an evident effort. She was as agitated as it
was in her nature to be the while, but she did not show it outwardly.
Elinor Leyton had at all times the most perfect command over herself.
She was dressed on the present occasion with the utmost neatness and
propriety, though she had left her home labouring under a discovery
which had pierced her to the very soul. She was a woman who would have
died upon the scaffold, without evincing the least fear.
“Reason to remember my existence!” echoed Harriet, “I do not understand
you.”
“I think you soon will!” said Elinor, as she took three letters from
her hand-bag and laid them on the table, “I do not think you can fail
to recognise that handwriting, Miss Brandt!”
Harriet stooped down and read the address upon the envelopes. They were
her own letters to Captain Pullen.
“How did you get these?” she demanded angrily, as she seized them in
her hand. “Is thieving one of your proclivities, Miss Leyton?”
“No, Miss Brandt, thieving, as you elegantly put it, is not one of my
proclivities! But Captain Pullen has been staying in the house of my
father, Lord Walthamstowe, at Richmond, and left those letters behind
him--thrown in the empty grate just as they are, a proof of how much he
valued them! One of the housemaids, whilst setting his room in order
after his departure, found them and brought them to me. So I determined
that I would return them to your hands myself!”
“And have you read them?” demanded Harriet.
“I have read them! I considered it my duty!”
“Your duty!” replied the other, scornfully, “what duty is there in a
mean, dishonourable action like that? What right had you to interfere
with things that don’t belong to you? These letters concern myself and
Captain Pullen alone!”
“I deny that, Miss Brandt! They concern me quite as much, if not
more--Captain Pullen is my affianced husband! We are to be married in
the spring!”
“I don’t believe it!” cried Harriet, starting to her feet. “A woman who
would read letters not addressed to her, would say anything! You are
_not_ engaged to be married to Captain Pullen!”
“Indeed! And on what grounds do you refuse to believe my statement?”
“Because he made love to me all the time he was in Heyst! Because he
used to kiss me and tell me again and again that I was the only woman
who had ever touched his heart! Because he had arranged to follow the
Baroness’s party to Brussels, only to be near me, and he would have
done so, had _you_ not prevented him!”
Her great eyes were blazing with indignation and mortified vanity--her
slender hands were clenched--she looked as if she were about to spring
upon her rival and tear her to pieces--whilst Miss Leyton sat there,
calm and collected--and smiled at her ravings.
“You are quite mistaken,” she said after a pause, “I have never
mentioned your name to Captain Pullen--I had no idea, until those
letters fell into my hands, that he had so far forgotten what
he owes to me, as to address you in any terms but those of mere
acquaintanceship. But now that I _do_ know, it must of course be put a
stop to at once and for ever! It was to tell you so, that I came here
this afternoon.”
“Put a stop to! Do you imagine that I am going to give up Captain
Pullen at your request? You are vastly mistaken!”
“But you must--you _shall_!” exclaimed Elinor, getting (for her) quite
excited. “He is engaged to marry me, and I will not allow him to keep
up any communication with you! My decision is final, and you will be
good enough to respect it!”
“Your decision is _final_!” cried Harriet in mocking tones. “Oh!
indeed, is it? And what about Ralph’s decision? Does that count for
nothing? What if Ralph refuses to give me up?”
Elinor rose to her feet, trembling with indignation at the other’s
boldness.
“You shall not call him ‘Ralph’,” she exclaimed. “How dare you speak of
a man who is nothing to you, in such familiar terms?”
“But _is_ he nothing to me?” retorted Harriet, “and am I nothing to
him? We must have that question answered first. Ralph told me to call
him by his name, and he calls me Hally. How can you prevent our doing
so? He loves me--he has told me so--and I shall write to him as often
as I choose--yes! and I will take him from you, if I choose, and keep
him into the bargain! What do you say to that?”
“I say that you are a bold, brazen girl, not fit for me to associate
with, and that I refuse to be contaminated by your presence any longer!
Let me go!”
She made an effort to gain the door, as she spoke, but Harriet barred
her exit.
“No, no, Miss Leyton,” she said, “you don’t come here to insult me, and
then leave before you have heard all I have to say to you! In the first
place your assurance to-day is the first I ever heard of your being
engaged to marry Captain Pullen. _He_ didn’t take the trouble to make
it public. He never mentioned you except to say what a cold, reserved,
unpleasant nature you had, and how impossible it would be for a man
with any human feeling to get on with you! That is what _he_ thought!
And he said it too, when he had his arm round my waist, and his face
close to mine. And now he has come to England, I suppose he is afraid
to carry on with me any more, for fear that you should hear of it! But
I don’t mean to let him off so easily, I can tell you! He shall answer
those letters, which you _say_ he threw away in the grate, but which
you are just as likely to have pilfered from his desk, before he is
many days older!”
“You cannot _make_ him answer them,” said Elinor, proudly, “whatever
you may affirm!”
“Not on paper perhaps, but by word of mouth! I will take them back to
him at Aldershot, and see whether he can deny what I have told when he
is face to face with me!”
“Surely!--surely!--you would never proceed to so unmaidenly an
extremity,” exclaimed Elinor, losing sight for a moment of her
indignation in her horror at the idea. “You must not think of such a
thing! You would create a scandal in the Camp! You would be despised
for it ever after!”
“I can take care of myself!” replied Harriet, boldly, “you need not
fear for me! And if even you _do_ get your own way about this matter,
you will have the satisfaction all your married life of knowing that
your husband was a coward and a traitor to you, even during your
engagement, and that you will never be able to trust him further than
you can see him, to the end! If you can care for such a husband, take
him, for I’m sure I wouldn’t. But he shall answer to me for all that!”
“Oh! Miss Brandt, let me go, pray let me go!” said Elinor in a tone of
such unmistakeable pain, that the other involuntarily drew back, and
let her push her way past her to the door.
As Miss Leyton disappeared, Harriet Brandt commenced to pace up and
down the length of the drawing-room. It was not the swaying walk of
disappointment and despair; it was determined and masterful, born of
anger and a longing for revenge. All the Creole in her, came to the
surface--like her cruel mother, she would have given over Ralph Pullen
to the vivisecting laboratory, if she could. Her dark eyes rolled in
her passion; her slight hands were clenched upon each other; and her
crimson lips quivered with the inability to express all she felt.
Bobby, glancing in upon her from the French windows which opened on
the garden, crept to her side and tried to capture her clenched hands,
and to keep her restless body still. But she threw him off, almost
brutally. At that moment she _was_ brutal.
“Leave me alone,” she exclaimed impatiently, “don’t touch me! Go away!”
“O! Hally,” the boy replied, sympathetically, “what is the matter? Has
anyone offended you? Let me know! Let me try to comfort you! Or tell me
what I shall do to help you.”
“_Do!_” cried the girl, contemptuously, “what could you do?--a baby
tied to your mother’s apron-string! Leave me to myself, I say! I
don’t want you, or anyone! I want to be alone! Boys are of no use! It
requires a _man_ to revenge a woman’s wrong!”
The lad, after one long look of bitter disappointment, walked quietly
away from the spot, and hid his grief in some sequestered part of the
garden. Hally despised him--she, who had kissed him and let him lay his
head upon her shoulder and tell her all his little troubles--said he
was of no use, when she stood in need of help and comfort! When, if she
only knew it, he was ready to stand up in her defence against twenty
men, if need be, and felt strong enough to defeat them all! But she had
called him a baby, tied to his mother’s apron-strings. The iron entered
into his very soul.
Meanwhile, Elinor Leyton, having blindly found her way out of the Red
House, hailed a passing hansom, and gave the driver directions to take
her to a certain number in Harley Street, where Margaret Pullen was
staying with her godfather, Doctor Phillips. She knew no one else to
whom she could go in this great trouble, which made her feel as if her
life had suddenly been cut in two. Yet she made no outward moan. Most
young women having kept a bold front, as she had done, towards the
enemy, would have broken down, as soon as they found themselves alone.
But Elinor Leyton was not in the habit of breaking down. As soon as
she had started for her destination, she leaned her head upon the back
of the cab, closed her eyes and set her teeth fast together. Her face
grew deadly pale, and an observer would have noted the trembling of her
lips, and the ball which rose and fell in her throat. But she uttered
no sound, not even a sigh--her misery was too deep for words.
Since she had returned to London, Margaret Pullen had stayed with
Doctor Phillips, for he had insisted that it should be so. The
telegram which had conveyed to Colonel Pullen the news of his little
daughter’s death, had been answered by one to say that he had applied
for immediate leave, and should join his wife as soon as he received
it. And Margaret was now expecting his arrival, every day--almost
every hour. She looked very sad in her deep mourning dress, as she
came forward to greet Elinor, but as soon as she caught sight of her
visitor’s face, she forgot her own trouble in her womanly sympathy for
her friend.
“My dear Elinor!” she exclaimed, “what has brought you to town? You
have bad news for me--I can read it in your eyes. Nothing wrong with
Ralph, I hope!”
She kissed the girl affectionately, and held her hand, but Elinor did
not answer. She turned her white face towards her friend, and bit her
lips hard, but the words would not come.
“You are suffering, my poor dear,” went on Margaret, tenderly, as she
made her sit down, and removed her hat and cloak. “Can’t you trust me
with your trouble? Haven’t I had enough of my own? Ah! cry, that’s
better. God sends us tears, in order that our hearts may not break! And
now, what is it? Is anyone ill at home?”
Elinor shook her head. The tears were rolling slowly one by one, down
her marble cheeks, but she jerked them away as they came, as though it
were a shame to weep.
After a long pause, she swallowed something in her throat and commenced
in a husky voice:
“It concerns Ralph, Margaret! He has been untrue to me! All is over
between us!”
“Oh! surely not!” said Margaret, “have you had a full explanation with
him? Who told you he had been untrue? Has Ralph asked for a release
from his engagement?”
“No! but he shall have it!”
She then went on to tell the story of the finding of Harriet Brandt’s
letters in Captain Pullen’s grate--and of the interview she had had
with the girl that afternoon.
“She did not attempt to deny it,” continued Elinor. “On the contrary
she declared that he had made love to her all the time he was at
Heyst--that he had said she was the only woman who had ever touched his
heart, and that no man with human feelings could be happy with such a
cold, reserved nature as mine! And if you could see her letters to him,
Margaret--I wish I had not given them to her, but she snatched them
from my hand--they were _too_ dreadful! I never read such letters from
a woman to a man. I did not know they could be written.”
“But, Elinor, it strikes me that all this time, you have only heard one
side of the question. What does it signify what Miss Brandt may say?
The only thing of importance to you is, what Ralph will say.”
“But there were her letters--they told their own story! They were full
of nothing but ‘dearests’ and ‘darlings,’ and reminders of how he had
embraced her in one place, and what he had said to her in another--such
letters as I could not write to a man, if it were to save my life!”
“I can quite understand that! Miss Brandt and you possess two totally
different natures. And cannot you understand that a girl like that,
half educated, wholly ignorant of the usages of society, with a
passionate undeveloped nature and a bold spirit, might write as you
have described her doing, against the wishes of the recipient of her
letters? You say that Ralph threw her epistles in the grate just as
they were. Does that look as if he valued them, or felt himself to be
guilty concerning their reception?”
“But, Margaret, you know he _did_ make himself conspicuous with the
Gobellis and Miss Brandt at Heyst! I think everyone noticed their
intimacy!”
“I noticed it also, and I was very sorry for it, but, Elinor, my dear,
it was partly your own fault! You were so much opposed to the idea of
your engagement to Ralph being made public, that I feared it might
lead to some _contretemps_. And then,” she continued gently, “don’t be
offended if I say that your reserve with him, and your objection to
anything like love-making on his part is in itself calculated to drive
a young man to society he cares less for!”
“But--but--still--I love him!” said poor Elinor, with a tremendous
effort.
“I know you do,” replied Margaret, kissing her again, “and better and
more faithfully, perhaps, than half the women who show their love so
openly--yet, men are but men, Elinor, and as a rule they do not believe
in the affection which is never expressed by caresses and fond words.”
“Well! whether I have been right or wrong, it is over now,” said Miss
Leyton, “and Ralph can go to Miss Brandt or anyone else he chooses
for amusement. I shall never stand in his way, but I cannot brook an
affront, so I shall write and release him from his promise to me at
once!”
“No, no, Elinor, you must not do anything so rash! I beg--I implore
you, to do nothing, until Ralph has had an opportunity of denying the
charges brought against him by this girl. They may be utterly untrue!
She may be simply persecuting him. Depend upon it, you have only to
ask him for an explanation of those letters, and everything will be
satisfactorily cleared up.”
“You have more belief in him than I have, Margaret. Miss Brandt has
great confidence in her cause. She told me that she had not only taken
him from me, but she meant to keep him, and expressed her intention of
going down to Aldershot and confronting Ralph with the letters she had
written him!”
At this intelligence, Margaret grew alarmed for her friend’s peace of
mind.
“No! no! that must never be,” she exclaimed, “that girl must not be
permitted to make a scandal in the Camp, and get your name perhaps
mixed up with it! It must be prevented.”
“I fancy you will find that a difficult task,” said Elinor; “she seems
the most determined young woman I have ever come across. She became so
vehement at last, that she frightened me, and I was only too glad to
get out of the house.”
“Elinor,” said Mrs. Pullen suddenly, “will you leave this matter in my
hands to settle in my own way?”
“What do you intend to do? See Miss Brandt yourself? I advise you not!
She will only insult you, as she did me.”
“No! I shall not see her myself, I promise you that, but I will send a
proper ambassador to interview Miss Brandt and the Baroness. This sort
of thing must not be allowed to go on, and unless Ralph comes forward
to second the girl’s assertions (which I am sure he will never do),
she and her friend Madame Gobelli must be made to understand that if
they don’t behave themselves, the law will be called into requisition
to enforce obedience. I should not be at all surprised if the Baroness
were not at the bottom of all this.”
“At anyrate, it has ruined my life!” said Elinor, mournfully.
“Nonsense! my dear girl, no such thing! It is only an unpleasant
episode which will soon be forgotten. But let it make you a little
more careful for the future, Elinor. Ralph is a very conceited man. He
has been spoilt by the women all his life, ‘_pour l’amour de ses beaux
yeux_.’ He has been used to flattery and attention, and when he doesn’t
get it he misses it, and goes where it is to be found. It is rather a
contemptible weakness, but he shares it in common with most of his sex,
and you have promised, remember, to take him for better or worse!”
“Not yet, thank goodness!” retorted Elinor, with something of her
usual spirit. “He and father got talking together about the marriage,
the other day, when he was down at Richmond, and fixed it, I believe,
for the spring, but they will have to unfix it again now, if I am not
mistaken.”
“No such thing,” replied Margaret, “and now you have consented--have
you not?--to leave the settlement of this other affair in my hands.”
“If you wish it, Margaret! But, remember, no compromise! If Ralph has
really promised this girl what she says, let him keep his promises, for
I will have none of him. And now I must go home or they will wonder
what has become of me!”
Margaret was not sorry to see her depart, for she was most anxious to
summon Anthony Pennell, her husband’s cousin, to her aid, and ask his
advice as to what was best to be done in the circumstances.
She had great faith in Anthony Pennell, not only in his genius, which
was an accepted thing, but in his good sense, which is not usually
found associated with the higher quality. He was a man of about thirty,
with a grand intellect--a sound understanding--a liberal mind, and
a sympathetic disposition. He had been originally intended for the
Bar, but having “taken silk,” and made a most promising debut, he had
suddenly blossomed into an author, and his first novel had taken London
by storm.
He had accomplished the rare feat of being lifted up at once on the
waves of public opinion and carried over the heads of all his fellows.
Since his first success, he had continued writing--had given up the law
in consequence--and was now making a large and steady income.
But Anthony Pennell’s great charm lay in his unassuming manner
and modest judgment of his own work. His triumphs were much more
astonishing to him than to his friends. In person, he was less handsome
than his cousin Ralph Pullen, but much more manly looking, having been
a distinguished athlete in his College days, and still finding his
best recreation on the cricket field and the golf ground. He was very
fair, with a white skin, embrowned here and there by sun and outdoor
exercise--short, curly hair--a fine figure, standing six foot high, and
the bluest of blue eyes. He was smoking in his own chambers late that
afternoon, when he received a telegram from Margaret Pullen, “Can you
come over this evening?” and as soon as he had changed his lounging
coat, he obeyed her summons.