THE DENOUEMENT.
I am quite unable to remember what I said, or did, in the first shock of
meeting him again. His presence in St. Pucelle was so utterly sudden and
unexpected to me, that I should not have felt greater surprise if my
dead mother had stood before me; and I do not think that, for the first
few minutes, I at all believed or realised that I was face to face with
the man who had embittered so large a portion of my life.
I suppose I said something, and held out my hand to him, because he
seized it eagerly, and appeared delighted at the recognition.
‘_Hilda!_ Miss Marsh! Is it possible! Who on earth would ever have
dreamed of meeting you here?’
The astonishment of my friends at his evident knowledge of me, luckily
prevented my having any occasion to answer his remark.
‘My dear Mr. Charteris,’ said Mr. Lovett, ‘you have taken us all aback.
Do you mean to tell me that you have met Hilda before?’
‘Have I _not_ met Hilda before?’ he echoed, in the old joyous tone that
sent a shiver through my heart. ‘Ask her yourself if you don’t believe
me! Why, we were the very best of friends some few years ago, when I was
an idle young fellow, loafing half my time away down at their pretty
little place in Norwood. By the way, Miss Marsh, I hope that your mother
is perfectly well.’
At this careless question, which told me so cruelly how little interest
I and my affairs had held for him since our parting, I raised my eyes
and looked in Cave Charteris’s face. Something in their expression, I
suppose, added to my black dress, revealed the truth to him, for though
Tessie interposed with a quick ‘_Hush!_’ it was almost drowned in his
apology.
‘I beg your pardon _so_ much! I am afraid I have made a great mistake,
but it is so long since we met, you see; and I have been out of the
world lately, and the reach of news.’
‘It is no matter,’ I uttered faintly, as I turned to Mr. Lovett. The old
man folded me in his arms as though I had really been his daughter.
‘Hilda and I have had a mutual misfortune lately, Mr. Charteris,’ he
explained. ‘She has lost the best of mothers, and I one whom, though I
had never had the pleasure of meeting, I reckoned amongst the most
valued of my friends. Hilda’s father and myself were sworn chums in the
old college days, and, after his lamented death, there was nothing to
which I looked forward in the future with so much pleasure as the hope
that I might meet and be of service to his widow and child. However,
there is a Power above that disposes such things for us, and that is the
reason that you find Hilda here, living in my house, and second only to
my own daughters in my affection and esteem. Go, my dear!’ he added
kindly to me, ‘and tell Madame that we are ready for our dinner! I will
take Mr. Charteris meanwhile to his room, and when we meet again, I
trust we shall all feel more at ease than we do at present.’
I was so grateful to my guardian for dismissing me at that moment, that
I fled to the presence of Madame Marmoret as if she had been an angel of
light instead of very much the reverse. Her sharp eyes detected my
agitation in a moment.
‘_Eh bien!_’ she exclaimed, as she fixed those piercing black orbs upon
my countenance. ‘And if they _do_ want their dinner, is that any reason
you should be as white as a peeled turnip? Mamselle Ange has been the
colour of a carrot all day, and now you have thought fit to do the other
thing! What does it all mean? Young men were not so scarce with me, when
_I_ was a girl, that they caused such a commotion as all that comes to;
and if this stranger is to set the whole house topsy-turvy, why, the
sooner he goes back to wherever he came from, the better; that’s what
_I_ say!’
‘Oh, hush, Madame! He may hear you.’
‘And what if he should?’ she exclaimed, raising her voice from sheer
obstinacy, until it reached every corner of the house. ‘I say nothing I
am ashamed of; but I don’t judge people before I see them, as you
foolish young creatures do! I take no one on trust. I want to see my
money before I give over my goods; and so I say, let him that pays
quickest be soonest served.’
Mr. Lovett had conducted Mr. Charteris upstairs by a more imposing route
than that which led through the kitchen, although we seldom used it
because it entailed going through the garden. But I was very glad he had
adopted it this evening, since it permitted me to reach my own room
without encountering them again. As I entered it I drew myself up
firmly, and knew that I must be brave, at least for the next few hours.
I dared not stay to think: the opportunity had not yet arrived for the
indulgence of such a luxury.
All I had to do was to brace my nerves to meet Cave Charteris in the
careless forgetful spirit in which he had evidently met me, and to
ignore for the time being that we had ever dreamt of becoming more to
one another than we were that night. I admired the coolness with which
he had stood the shock of meeting me; at that moment I could not believe
that his affected nonchalance was _real_—and I would imitate it to the
best of my ability. So, in a few minutes, I descended to the _salle_
again, looking as much as possible like my usual self! I found the girls
alone there, the gentlemen not having yet returned.
‘What do you think of him?’ asked Tessie eagerly, as I entered. ‘Do you
not find him very handsome and distinguished-looking? He appears a true
Englishman to me, with his fair yellowish hair and those very blue
eyes!’
‘_Bah!_’ exclaimed Madame Marmoret, who had just brought in a dish of
trout and laid it on the table. ‘What is the good of an Englishman over
another man, except that he has more money and is a greater fool, so
that he parts with it easier.’
‘You are not very complimentary, Madame,’ said Ange. ‘You seem to forget
that we are English.’
‘I wish I could, _petite_ Ange! ’tis the worst part about you—except the
want of money.’
‘You are always talking about money, Madame. Monsieur l’Abbé would tell
you, you should not think so much about it. I am sure we have as much as
we require.’
‘That is as it may be!’ grumbled Madame, ‘but other people have not as
much as _they_ require, perhaps—_voyez_? Mère Fromard could tell you a
different story if you were to ask her.’
‘Madame!’ interposed Tessie, in a tone of remonstrance, which sent the
servant muttering out of the _salle_.
‘You are a greedy old pig!’ called out Ange playfully after her, but
Tessie seemed to be afraid of what the pleasantry might lead to, for she
drew the little maid to one side and bade her be silent.
When first we sat down to dinner, Cave Charteris appeared to be so much
overcome by the news he had heard, as to be rendered almost silent.
Every moment or so, I detected him glancing furtively at my mourning
dress and pallid features, and he answered the questions addressed to
him by Mr. Lovett in monosyllables. I suppose he felt sorry that he had
wounded my feelings, and the occasion of his doing so had revived some
remembrance of the many little kindnesses he had received at the hands
of my dear mother when she had imagined she was showing an interest in
the affairs of the man who was to become her son-in-law. However, under
the influence of the good dinner that Madame had prepared for us, and
the good wine which had suddenly made its appearance on the table—heaven
alone knows from where, for these unusual luxuries had a habit of
springing into existence with us as unexpectedly as if they had been
shot up through a trap-door at a stage banquet—Mr. Charteris soon shook
off his temporary embarrassment, and became the most talkative of the
company. Of course he was informed of the importance of the day, and
insisted upon our drinking the little maid’s health with three times
three. Strange to say, I joined in these birthday congratulations almost
as readily as if nothing had occurred to disturb the tranquillity of the
morning. If I were a little paler and more silent than usual, the
Lovetts attributed it to the suddenness with which I had encountered my
mother’s friend, and Mr. Charteris had no notion that I had been
otherwise since I had lost her.
When conversation had been restored amongst us, he addressed the greater
part of his to myself, taking care, however, not to make the slightest
allusion to the old days at Norwood.
‘I should think that seeing me walk in here, Miss Marsh’ (I perceived,
with gratitude, that he had quite dropped his old familiar habit of
calling me ‘Hilda’), ‘must have been almost as great a surprise to you
as meeting you was to me. And it all came about by the most remarkable
coincidence possible. Have you told Miss Marsh where you met me?’ he
added, turning to Mr. Lovett.
‘I have not. I wish now that I had, but my girls there wanted to
astonish her with the appearance of a young man (young men being a
rarity in St. Pucelle), and kept your identity a dead secret until you
stood upon the very threshold.’
‘Ah! just so. Well, Miss Marsh, I had been staying in Paris for the last
three months, and had promised my uncle, Sir John Stephenson, to visit
his son at Rille before I returned home again.’
‘Sir John Stephenson’s son! What, Fred Stephenson?’ I exclaimed, roused
into interest.
‘Yes; do you know them? By Jove! now you mention it, I remember Fred
telling me he had crossed to Antwerp after the summer holidays with a
Miss Marsh, who was going to Artois. And it never struck me for a moment
that it could be you. How strangely things do turn out! Fancy! the very
name itself not arousing my curiosity.’
‘I see nothing strange in it. It is so many years since we met.’
‘It is indeed. Let me see how many—four, five, six?’
‘Five.’
‘Five years ago. By Jove! so it is. I was a nice article at that time, I
dare say; I hope you will find me improved now, Miss Marsh. However, to
return to my story: it was not the first visit I had paid to Rille, for
I was over there last autumn, when I had the pleasure of making the
acquaintance of Mr. Lovett and his daughters.’
‘On the occasion of the Bishop of Otaheite holding a confirmation
there,’ interposed Mr. Lovett, ‘Tessie and Ange were both confirmed.
They had not had an opportunity of being so before, as, when the last
Protestant bishop visited Rille, Ange was too young and Tessie had the
measles. Young Stephenson was confirmed too, if I remember rightly. A
nice-looking lad with fair hair.’
‘Yes, that is he! I am going to ask you by-and-by, Mr. Lovett, if I may
have him over here for a day’s shooting. I promised him a holiday, and
my coming to St. Pucelle sooner than I intended cut him out of it.’
‘Certainly! We shall be delighted to see your cousin, or any friends of
yours, Mr. Charteris.’
‘Thanks, so much! Well, Miss Marsh, where was I?’
‘I am not quite sure,’ I answered slowly.
‘You were going to tell us how it came to pass that you met papa again,’
said Ange, blushing violently at the sound of her own voice.
I saw Cave Charteris’s eyes rest on her admiringly, and the thought of
what Mrs. Carolus had told me just flashed across my mind and made me
turn a little more sick than I was before. Only for a moment, though;
the next I knew that nothing could make any difference to the relations
in which he and I now stood to one another. I am not a woman hard of
belief, but where I have been once deceived, I never trust again. Cave
Charteris’s pleasant voice roused me from my reverie.
‘Ah! just so. Thank you, Miss Lovett, for the reminder. Whatever else I
may forget, you may rest assured I shall never forget the occasion of my
first visit to Rille! Well, there I was stranded last week in one of my
very worst humours—and when you have seen me in one of my very worst
humours, I do not think you will ever wish for the pleasure again. I
have a shocking bad temper, Miss Lovett!’
He said ‘Miss Lovett,’ but he meant Ange; and the little maid laughed
softly to herself in answer. I am quite sure she did not believe him.
‘I had given up my rooms in Paris, and gone to Rille for a few days _en
route_ to my own “diggings.” And there I received a letter to say that
scarlet fever had broken out at home, and I must not think of crossing
till the doctor said it would be safe for me to do so.’
‘Oh dear! how sad!’ exclaimed Tessie, sympathetically.
She was our only spokeswoman.
‘Very sad! isn’t it? But it would be foolish of me to go, especially as
they don’t want me. Well, just as I was swearing at this—I beg your
pardon, ladies, I mean just as I was reviling my ill-luck—in walks your
good father there, to whom I confide my difficulty, telling him, at the
same time, that if I can secure comfortable quarters at St. Pucelle, I
think of taking up my abode there for a short time, in order to have
some forest shooting. Now you can guess all the rest. Mr. Lovett, with
his usual benevolence, offers me the shelter of his roof for as long as
I can behave myself, and his friend the Baron de Nesselrode has kindly
volunteered to be my guide through the Piron. What a number of
accidents, all coming together, conduce to this pleasant meeting! Well,
I suppose it _was_ to be, Miss Marsh, and I, for one, have every reason
to congratulate myself that it has occurred.’
I tried to say that it pleased me also, though the lie left my faltering
tongue but tamely.
‘You have an engagement with De Nesselrode to-morrow morning, I
believe?’ remarked Mr. Lovett.
‘Yes; that is the reason of my sudden appearance here. He wrote me word
that they have got up a boar-hunt in the forest for the day after
to-morrow, and I was anxious to see what sort of a mount I could get in
St. Pucelle. I do not wish to send to Rille or Brussels, unless it is
absolutely necessary. Are there any horses to be hired about here?’
‘None to be hired, but plenty to be bought.’
‘It makes no difference to me; indeed, I would prefer to purchase if I
can get a place to keep the animal in.’
‘We have an excellent stable and cowshed adjoining the house, which are
both at your service, being, unfortunately for us, empty.’
‘That is settled, then; and will suit me far better than the hiring
system. If I remain here, as I hope to do, for a few months, I should
not care to be riding a different animal every day.’
‘And the horse you will purchase here will serve your purpose better
than any town-bred animal. It takes a stout-hearted little beast, I can
assure you, not to turn tail in forest-shooting. But here it seems bred
in their bone. Even our sheep-dogs have wolf-blood in them, and will
attack anything.’
‘I anticipate any amount of pleasure in the forest,’ said Mr. Charteris;
‘and if your friend Monsieur de Nesselrode is half as courteous as his
letters, I am sure we shall get on well together.’
‘He is a thoroughbred gentleman,’ replied my guardian; ‘one of the
_ancienne noblesse_, who are so fast dying out of France. He is
expatriated for the present—the Château des Roses having been one of the
shooting-boxes of the family—but when he comes into his own again, there
will not be a finer courtier throughout the length and breadth of the
land.’
‘So Miss Markham has given me to understand. She has often mentioned the
Baron de Nesselrode to me.’
‘Oh! do you know Sophy Markham? cried Ange, with a childish giggle.
Cave Charteris took her cue at once.
‘Who _doesn’t_ know her?’ he answered, laughing. ‘She is ubiquitous, and
appears to be an institution wherever I go. I have met her at Paris, in
Italy, Switzerland and Germany; at Brussels and Rille, and now I find
her settled in St. Pucelle. I begin to believe I am never to be rid of
Miss Sophy Markham, and if I crossed to Dover to-morrow, I should expect
to see her face hanging over the rails of the landing-stage to welcome
me home.’
They all laughed heartily at that, and Tessie said slyly:
‘Do you not admire her, then?’
‘Come, come, my girl! no scandal,’ interposed Mr. Lovett, quickly.
‘Ah, papa! I forgot you were one of the followers in her train.’
‘I am sure papa is no such thing,’ said Ange, indignantly. ‘_She_
follows papa, you mean!’
‘Here, Charteris! let us get out of this,’ exclaimed her father, rising
from table. ‘You see what you have to expect from putting your character
in the hands of a couple of little scandalmongers like these. If you
will not take any more wine for the present, we will stroll down the
town and speak to Jacques Despard about the horses. I know he has
several nice colts for sale, and if you are anything of a horseman, you
may like the mettle of a young, untrained animal. De Nesselrode will be
up here by-and-by, I have no doubt, when I shall have the pleasure of
making you personally acquainted. Tessie, my dear, should the Baron
arrive before I return, tell him to make himself _chez lui_ till I come.
Now, Charteris.’
And, with a bow that included us all three from the latter, and a nod
from Mr. Lovett, the two gentlemen took their way down the street of St.
Pucelle.
Oh, how I longed to go to bed and bury my bursting brain in the feather
pillows; to find myself quite, _quite_ alone in the friendly darkness,
and with the key in my door turned against all intruders.
My head ached from repressed thought; my heart was sick and trembling; I
felt really ill for want of giving vent to my emotion: yet, so strong
are the influences of custom and society, that I dared not tell the
girls I needed rest. On the contrary, I eagerly denied their assertion
that the sudden appearance of Mr. Charteris had upset me, and disdained
all need of the affectionate sympathy they tendered me in consequence.
‘My dear children,’ I said impatiently, ‘I assure you you are mistaken.
I am not half such a fool as I look. I confess it startled me to see Mr.
Charteris walk into the room, because, for aught I knew to the contrary,
the man might have been dead and buried by this time; but that fact
alone will tell you that we could not have been very intimate friends in
the olden days.’
‘Still, I suppose you know _something_ about him?’ persisted Ange.
‘How do you mean “_something about him_?”’
‘Why, about his family, and so forth.’
‘Indeed, I do not. I never paid a single visit to his family—I believe
they are Northampton people!’
‘Norfolk, I think,’ put in Ange, timidly; ‘at least he said so when we
first saw him at Rille.’
‘Oh, indeed! then I dare say you know a great deal more about him than I
do. The fact is, Tessie,’ I continued, longing to have the explanation
over once and for ever, ‘Mr. Charteris was introduced to us, many years
ago, by an old friend of my dear mother’s. He was hanging about town
then, doing nothing, I fancy—any way, he used often to run down to
Norwood to see us, as you have heard him say, and—and—we were rather
intimate for a few months—that is, until his father sent him to travel
on the Continent, since which I have heard nothing of him until we met
to-day.’
‘You knew none of his sisters or brothers, then—nor his parents?’
‘I knew none of the family but himself. I think he used to speak to me
of his sisters, but I forget how many there were.’
‘He has only one sister now,’ said Ange, again. ‘I wonder if it is she
who has the scarlet fever.’
‘Most likely! Have you heard what profession he is in?’
‘I do not think he has any,’ replied Tessie. ‘He seems to be a man of
independent property! Did you hear him say that it made no difference to
him if he bought a horse or hired one.’
‘Yes; I suppose, then, he must have come into some money. He was not
rich when we knew him. I remember that! He was to have read for the law,
and my dear mother used to say—she said, I remember—I can recall her
saying——’ But no! put it which way I would, that sentence utterly
refused to come to the birth. I had harped, unwittingly, on a string too
nearly connected with my dead hope, and the discovery broke me down.
‘Oh, mother! mother!’ I cried aloud, as I put my head in Tessie’s lap
and sobbed without restraint. Of course they attributed it to the
associations which the presence of their guest had recalled to my mind,
and they were as tender and sympathetic with my distress as though they
had been to blame for it.
‘I am so sorry we kept it a secret from you, dear Hilda,’ they exclaimed
simultaneously; ‘it was such a silly thing to do: but we had not the
slightest conception that you had met him before, and under such happier
circumstances. Do forgive us, Hilda! You will make us so very miserable
if we think we have made you so.’
I assured them solemnly, as I rose and dried my eyes, that the girlish
trick they had played upon me had nothing to do with my present state of
mind. I should have felt the rencontre just as much I said, and truly,
had I been prepared for it weeks beforehand; and I only required a few
hours by myself to subdue the unusual emotion which old memories had
raised in me. My answer had just the effect I desired.
‘Do go to bed, then, dear Hilda,’ urged Tessie, ‘and sleep off the
remembrance of this unhappy evening. I am sure you will like Mr.
Charteris very much when you come to speak to him more freely, and
perhaps, in a few days, you will congratulate yourself that you have met
him again.’
How little I thought, as I dragged myself up to my room, that her
surmise would prove true.
[Illustration: [Fleuron]]