CHARLIE.
My compact with Tessie did not, however, preclude one thing, and that
was the taking advice of my friends on the state of my affairs. With the
state of those of other people I had nothing to do. But I could not
decide whether to write to Mr. Warrington or Mrs. Sandilands. The
solicitor was, of course, the most proper person to consult on the
subject, but it appeared to be such a formidable proceeding to make a
regular complaint to him, and I dreaded its entailing legal inquiries,
and perhaps a complete estrangement between myself and the Lovetts. And,
in that case, what would become of my promise of fidelity to Tessie?
Mrs. Sandilands, on the other hand, although only a woman, had thorough
good sense, and had managed all her own money affairs since her
husband’s death, and might be able to give me some hints by which to
manage my guardian and obviate the necessity of calling in professional
assistance.
So the day after I had taken that walk with Tessie, I sat down to write
to Mrs. Sandilands. It was always a pleasure to me to take up the pen to
address my old friend. Thoughts of the pretty countrified home which we
had shared together, and of the many happy hours we had passed in each
other’s society, used to flow in upon me as I wielded it, and sometimes
I was almost tempted to regret I had been so cold-hearted as to be
unable to claim the title of daughter so warmly offered to me. What a
cheerful, comfortable fireside theirs was. I could imagine no brighter
lot for some poor lonely unloved orphan than to be welcomed to the bosom
of the Sandilands family—for any orphan, that is to say, except Hilda
Marsh. The bright-eyed helpful girls and the boisterous healthy boys,
with their rosy cheeks and young clear voices—I fancied I could see them
at that moment gathered round the dinner-table.
Nellie and Connie and Flo helping their mother to carve, whilst Bell,
the spoilt baby of the family, albeit ten years old, was seated at Mrs.
Sandilands’ elbow, ready to grab at anything that came within her reach;
and the boys’ eyes were glistening at the sight of pudding, and their
mouths, luckily for all those concerned, too full to permit them to make
much noise.
Poor Charlie would not be present at that early meal. He always took his
lunch in town, and relied on his mother looking after his creature
comforts at tea-time.
Poor Charlie! I always thought of his name with that prefix, though I
used to tell myself it was very ridiculous to do so; and that if he had
inherited any of his mother’s practical good sense, he must have seen,
even before I had left Norwood, that the proposal he had made to me was
one that, under any circumstances, I could never have entertained.
It was not his paltry income, nor the small chance he had of increasing
it. If I loved a man, I felt that I could work for him, cooking dinners
or scrubbing floors every day of my life, and be happier so, a great
deal, than unloved and alone. But the one I slaved for must be superior
to me. And poor Charlie was not. There was no conceit in saying so—it
was the veritable fact. He was a dear good old boy, and I felt sure that
some day he would make some woman very happy indeed; but it could never
be myself.
Our natures didn’t coalesce. I was too clear-sighted concerning him for
any chance to remain of my friendship ripening into love. I saw so much
too plainly that his hair was sandy and his moustaches nearly red, and
that he had no idea of argument, and was uncomfortable in society, and
appeared as though he had been unused to it.
Still I wished he had written to me. During the three months I had spent
in St. Pucelle, though Mrs. Sandilands had sent me a letter almost every
week, she had never enclosed more than a message from her son; and I was
curious about him, as all women are about their lovers, and wanted to
find out if he had forgotten me, or was still silly enough to fret
because I would not settle down in the bosom of his family as Mrs.
Sandilands the Second.
What induced me to think about him so much that morning I do not know;
but amongst my psychological studies, I have often observed the curious
manner in which coming events often cast their shadow on the brain.
Anyway, I was still sitting over that sheet of paper, nibbling my pen,
and thinking of Charlie, when some one knocked at my bedroom door.
‘All right!’ I called out, imagining it to be a summons to _goûter_.
‘I’m very glad it’s ready, for I’m as hungry as I can be.’
‘But no,’ replied Ange’s merry voice, in French, ‘you are an hour out of
your reckoning, Hilda: it is only half-past eleven. I come to tell you
that somebody is waiting for you in the _salle_.’
‘Somebody! That means that old bore Miss Markham or her bosom friend
Mrs. Carolus. No, thank you, _petite_ Ange! I am writing a letter, and
cannot be disturbed. Say you could see me nowhere. That will be quite
true.’
‘But supposing it is not Miss Markham or Miss Carolus! Suppose it is a
gentleman, Hilda!’
My thoughts flew at once to Monsieur de Nesselrode, and my cheeks flamed
like fire. That was because, since he had left off spending his evenings
at our house, I had always felt a degree of guilty fear respecting him,
under the idea that Mr. Lovett would some day question him too closely
concerning his defalcation, and draw from him, perhaps against his will,
a relation of the circumstances under which he had come to the
determination to give up cards.
I felt the awkward position that in such a case I should be placed: of
how impossible it would be for me to explain to my trustee that I had
had Tessie’s welfare at heart, more than that of the Baron, in
persuading him to give up play, and that in going against the father’s
wishes, I had been doing my very best for the daughter. Mr. Lovett would
say, and naturally think, that he knew what would secure his child’s
happiness better than myself, and I had no right to interfere. It would
be very difficult to convince him that, beyond the pity which all
right-minded people must feel to see a fellow creature throwing away his
chances of happiness in this world, I had had no motive in advising the
Baron to secure his. So that the name of De Nesselrode was rather a
bugbear to me at that time; and I always felt my best safety lay in
being present, if possible, at his interviews with Mr. Lovett.
So, on hearing Ange’s last piece of intelligence, I threw my
half-finished letter into my blotting-case, and smoothed my hair before
the looking-glass.
‘You need not wait, Ange. I will be down directly!’ I exclaimed.
‘Ah, I thought _that_ would bring you, mademoiselle!’ she called out
with such a merry laugh, as she ran down the corridor, that I stopped
short with the brush in my hand, to consider whether _petite_ Ange had
not been having a little amusement at my expense, and I should find
myself in the arms of Mrs. Carolus after all. However, I resolved to go
and see.
I followed her so quickly, that I caught her up in our little
sitting-room, tying back her hair with a black ribbon.
‘He’s such a _nice_ young man!’ she said demurely; ‘and Tessie is making
such violent love to him already!’
‘Ange, what a goose you are! I know it is only the Baron!’
‘Well, go and see for yourself. If it is the Baron, he has dyed his
hair!’
I opened the door of the _salle_ quietly and looked in. No, it was
decidedly not the Baron. That light-grey tweed suit and stuck-up collar
never belonged to any one but an Englishman.
Ah, I had it now! It was my young friend of the steamboat—Mr.
Charteris’s cousin, Frederick Stephenson. I advanced quickly to bid him
welcome. He turned round, and proved to be—Charlie Sandilands!
Oh, I _was_ so pleased to see him! All the blood in my body, I verily
believe, rushed to my face as I darted forward with both hands
outstretched to grasp his.
‘Charlie!’ I exclaimed eagerly. ‘Oh, Charlie, my dear old boy! wherever
did you spring from?’
‘I thought you would be surprised to see me, Hilda,’ he replied, with
his eyes fixed upon my countenance; ‘but I couldn’t help coming—I
couldn’t, upon my word! I’ve got my annual leave, you see; and I did
want to see you so much, that I put off taking it until I could spend it
in St. Pucelle.’
‘Oh, how good of you, Charlie! And how long will you be here?’
‘Nearly a month, Hilda, unless you are sick of me before that time—in
which case I shall go back to Norwood.’
‘Sick of you? That’s very likely! Why, it’s like old times to see your
face again! What jolly days we will have together! I am so glad you came
before the fine weather was over. Isn’t it a lovely place! And where are
you staying, Charlie?’
In the gladness of my heart at meeting the boy again, I had been holding
his hands all this time; but now, perceiving that Mr. Charteris was
lounging in one of the window-seats, smoking, and regarding my
ebullitions of delight, as I thought, with rather a contemptuous air, I
dropped them as if they had been hot coals, and sat down on a chair
close by.
‘I have put up at the Hôtel d’Etoile,’ said Charlie.
His pronunciation was delicious—something to make one scream by-and-by;
but at that moment he might have stood on his head, and I should have
regarded him gravely, so eager was I for news from my dear old home.
‘That is all right. I am glad you have chosen the Etoile. It is nearer
us than the Cloche. Fancy, I was just writing a letter to your dear
mother, and thinking so much of you, Charlie, and all the others, when
they knocked at my door to tell me you were here! I suppose you have
been introduced to Miss Lovett?’
‘Yes, Mr. Charteris was good enough to do so. I was surprised to see
Charteris here, too, Hilda. It is quite a meeting of the clans! What an
age it seems since he was at Norwood!’
Then I remembered that these two must have met at that period, though
Charlie had been such a mere lad, that Mr. Charteris and I had doubtless
considered that he had neither eyes nor ears. The recollection, however,
of what I had told him of my early disappointment came back so vividly
upon my mind, that I flushed scarlet and hated myself for so flushing,
for fear lest the one man should interpret my change of countenance as
regret for our lost intimacy, and the other accept it as a clue to the
mysterious history I had partly confided to him. But Charlie appeared to
see no connection at all in the two circumstances.
‘Mr. Charteris had quite forgotten me,’ he went on, ‘but I suppose that
is not surprising. Hair upon one’s face makes such a difference.’
(Charlie’s moustaches resembled the down on an apple-tart, and had to be
caught sideways to be seen at all.) ‘But I knew him at once. He is not
the least altered since he was at Norwood. Is he, Hilda?’
‘Men alter less at Mr. Charteris’s age than they do at yours, Charlie.
But tell me about your mother, and your brothers and sisters. I wish you
could have brought your dear mother with you. And how are Nellie and
Connie and Flo and little Bell? It seems years instead of months since I
saw them all.’
‘Oh, they’re flourishing, Hilda, and going on just as usual. Nell’s been
worrying mother ever since you left to send her to a continental school,
but I don’t think she’ll get her way. Mother’s much too timid to let any
one of them out of her sight.’
‘There are no young ladies’ schools in St. Pucelle, or I should try and
persuade Mrs. Sandilands to send Nell here—and I’d look after her! It is
so charming to see any one from the old country when you are exiled in a
foreign land.’
‘One would imagine to hear you talk, Miss Marsh,’ interposed Mr.
Charteris, ‘and to see the rapture with which you welcome your friends
from England, that you had been expatriated for a lifetime, instead of
three months.’
He spoke ‘nastily’ to me, and he meant me to take it so. I could almost
have thought, from the expression of his voice, that he was annoyed at
witnessing the friendly terms on which I was with Charlie Sandilands.
But that would have been too ridiculous, under the circumstances.
However, I could not help giving him a _quid pro quo_.
‘I am not in the habit of forgetting my friends, Mr. Charteris. And if
an absence of three months can make me so glad to meet them again, it is
only a proof that I have found none better to take their places in the
interim.’
He bit his lip and went on smoking, whilst I turned my attention again
to Charlie, and continued my catechism of his home affairs.
It was strange that during the three weeks Cave Charteris and I had
spent under the same roof, not a word nor a hint had been exchanged
between us relating to our former intimacy. That he had entirely
forgotten it I could not believe; neither could he credit me with so
short a memory. On the contrary, his studied avoidance of the subject
convinced me that he remembered only too well, although it was
convenient to attribute his reticence to his fear of hurting my feelings
by reviving thoughts of my lost mother. At the same time he never
appeared quite at his ease when in my presence, and as he reminded me
painfully of a time of weakness and suffering which I had lived to be
very much ashamed of, we had mutually avoided each other as much as
possible. I was surprised, therefore, to see that he condescended to
take any notice of my interest in Charlie Sandilands.
‘Have you had luncheon yet, Charlie?’ I went on, with my back turned to
Mr. Charteris.
‘No, Hilda. They told me at the hotel it was served at one.’
‘Well, go and get it then, and come back to take a walk with me.’
‘I shall be delighted!’
‘Will not Mr. Sandilands stay and take some _goûter_ with us, Hilda?
Papa will be in directly,’ interposed Tessie.
‘_No!_’ I said decidedly. ‘He had better go back to his hotel.’
I had no idea of a friend of mine breaking bread in Mr. Lovett’s house,
whilst I could prevent it. The Sandilands had always been honest to the
core. Let Charlie go and eat bread that had been paid for! I felt sure
his mother would have said the same.
‘Call for me at two o’clock,’ I said in parting. ‘I will take you such a
lovely walk as you have never seen before, right up the hill to the
forest of Piron.’
‘Past the Château des Roses!’ said Tessie, mischievously.
Ah! how she would have altered her tone, had she known _why_ I took any
interest in the Château des Roses or its master!
‘Tessie, how can you!’ I cried, with burning cheeks. ‘Now, I shall take
Mr. Sandilands in exactly the opposite direction, over the trout stream
and through the valley of Artois!’
‘But I saw that as I came in the diligence yesterday,’ said Charlie.
‘Then there are a dozen other walks, all prettier than the one I first
mentioned, for me to introduce you to. But I want to take you right away
from the town to some place where we can talk privately of all that has
happened since we last met.’
‘In three months!’ sneered Cave Charteris.
When I say he ‘sneered,’ I mean that he spoke the words unpleasantly,
and as though he would have liked to laugh, had he dared, at what I
said.
‘And why not?’ I returned. ‘A great deal of consequence may occur in
that time. It is long enough to make or mar a life; why should I not
find sufficient has happened in it to interest my friend for the length
of a walk?’
‘Everything that happens to you is of interest to me, Hilda,’ exclaimed
Charlie, with boyish fervour.
‘I knew that before I spoke! Mr. Charteris must have few friends worthy
the name if he did not know it also!’
‘I am not so fortunate as Miss Marsh,’ replied that gentleman. ‘No one
takes such an interest in me.’
‘Not those at home,’ remarked Ange, pitifully. The little maid had crept
into the _salle_ a few minutes after myself. Charteris turned and looked
searchingly into her blushing face.
‘No, I am afraid not even “those at home,” Miss Lovett. But how can I
expect it? I am not Miss Hilda Marsh.’
‘Even I have been forgotten by those I thought my friends,’ I remarked
quietly.
‘But never by my mother nor me,’ said Charlie, in an eager tone.
‘I know that, Charlie, without your telling me. But now go back to the
hotel and get your _goûter_, and I will be ready for walking on your
return.’
‘How I wish some one would take me for a walk,’ observed Mr. Charteris,
with a professional sigh, as Charlie disappeared. _Petite_ Ange said
nothing, but she sighed also.
END OF VOL. II.
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, SURREY.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
● Enclosed blackletter font in =equals=.