"WARP AND WOOF."
When the rough weather of a stormy autumn obliged Katherine to keep
in-doors she began to feel the monotony of existence by the sad sea
waves, and to wish for the sociability of London. The end of October,
then, saw Miss Payne and party re-established in Wilton Street, having
left Cecil at school. With Charlie, Katherine could not part just yet.
She intended to keep him till after Christmas, when he was to go to
school with his brother.
Though town was empty as regarded "society," there was plenty of life
and movement in the streets, and Katherine, always thankful for
occupation which drew her thoughts away from her profound regret for the
barrier which existed between Errington and herself, was glad to be back
in the great capital. She threw herself into the scheme of establishing
Rachel Trant as a "court dressmaker" most heartily, and Bertie Payne
spared time from his multifarious avocations to give important
assistance. Rachel herself, too, proved to be a wise counsellor, her
previous training having given her some experience in business.
Katherine therefore found interesting employment in looking for a small
house suited to the undertaking.
Mr. Newton was writing busily in his private room one foggy afternoon
when he was informed that Miss Liddell wished to speak to him.
"Show her in at once," he said, cheerfully, as if pleased, and he rose
to receive her. "Glad to see you, Miss Liddell, looking all the better
for your sojourn by the sea-side. Why, it must be nearly six months
since I saw you."
"Yes, quite six months, Mr. Newton. I suppose you have been refreshing
yourself too, after the fatigues of the season. You must try Sandbourne
next year. It is a very nice little place."
"Sandbourne? I don't think I know it. But now what do you want, my dear
young lady? I don't suppose you come here merely for pleasure."
"I assure you it always gives me great pleasure," said Katherine, with a
sweet, sunny smile. "You have always been my very good friend."
"Well, a sincere one, at all events," returned the dry old lawyer, whose
aridity was not proof against the charm of his young client.
"I must not waste your time," she resumed, drawing her chair a little
nearer the table behind which he was ensconced. "I want to buy a house
which I have seen, and I want you to attend to all details connected
with it."
"Oh--ah! Well, a good house would not be a bad investment; it would be
very convenient to have a residence in London."
"It is not for myself; it is a speculation."
"A speculation? What put that into your head?"
Whereupon Katherine told him her story.
"I think it rather a mad undertaking," was Mr. Newton's verdict. "These
projects seldom succeed. I don't care for clever interesting young women
who have no one belonging to them and cannot corroborate their stories.
How do you know she was not dismissed from Blackie & Co.'s for theft?"
Katherine laughed. "I certainly do not know," she said, "but I _feel_ it
is quite as impossible for her to steal as it is for myself."
"Feel!--feel!" (impatiently). "Just so: impostors thrive on the good
feelings of--of the simple."
"You were going to say fools," said Katherine. "Don't let us waste time,
my dear Mr. Newton," she went on, with good-humored decision. "We shall
never agree on such a topic; and I am going to buy this house, or
another of the same kind if this proves not to be desirable; and I
should be very sorry to employ any one but you to arrange the purchase."
"Oh, you know your own mind, and how to threaten--eh, Miss Liddell?" he
returned, with a smile. "I must know more about the tenement before I
can consent to act for you."
"It is an ordinary three-storied house, with a couple of rooms built out
at the back, in a small street where there are a few shops; but it is
near Westbourne Terrace, and therefore in a region of good customers.
The late owner has been succeeded by a son, who seems very anxious to
get rid of it. The price asked is seven hundred and fifty pounds, and I
believe the taxes are under ten pounds. Do, dear Mr. Newton, look into
the matter, and get it settled as soon as possible, and on the best
terms you can."
"Hum! and the furniture? Do you undertake that too?"
"Of course. Don't you see, I can do it all out of the money I have not
been able to use. There is quite three thousand pounds on deposit in the
bank. You know you wrote to me only a month ago about letting the money
lie idle. I shall employ it now, for my _protegee_, Miss Trant, will be
my only manager. I will pay her wages, and whatever profit after comes
to me."
"A very unknown quantity," said the lawyer, drily. "Still, the house
can't run away, and I suppose will aways let for fifty or sixty pounds a
year."
"Fifty, I think."
"Then I will look into the matter. Is it in habitable repair?"
"It seems so. Do your best to have the purchase completed as soon as
possible, dear Mr. Newton. I want to start my modiste in good time to
catch the home-coming people."
"Believe me, it is an unwise project," said Newton, thoughtfully.
"I know you think so, and you are right to counsel me according to your
conscience; but as I am quite determined, you must not let me go to a
stranger for help."
"Very well; give me the address."
"Seven Malden Street, Paddington. Bell & Co., house agents, in Harrow
Road, have it on their books."
"Good! I'll get a surveyor to see to sanitary arrangements, etc. Now
that, as usual, you have conquered again and again, tell me something of
yourself. Are you tired of the little nephews yet?"
"No, indeed. I have been happier with them than I dared hope to be when
I was left alone nearly a year ago, yet"--Her voice faltered and her
soft dark eyes filled.
"Yes, yes," hastily, with a man's dread of tears; "you couldn't get over
that all at once. But you know it is a very Quixotic business taking
those boys; and Mrs. Ormonde is not the woman to relieve you should any
difficulty arise."
"But when boys are well provided for there never can be a difficulty.
Ah, Mr. Newton, what a wonderful magician money is! What would become of
me without it? It is almost worth risking anything to get it."
"Or, apparently, to get rid of it," remarked Mr. Newton. "By-the-way,
that was a tremendous smash of Errington's. Did you hear anything about
him?"
"Yes," rather faintly.
"The reason I mention him is that, curiously enough, _he_ was the man
your uncle left everything to in that will he very fortunately
destroyed. Of course I should only mention it to you: though now all is
passed and gone, it is of no importance. He has behaved very well. I am
told he has turned to literature. It's a pity he did not follow his
profession; but it would be rather late in the day for that. I think you
must find these rooms rather stuffy and warm after the sea-breezes, for
you are looking pale and fagged again."
"I feel a headache coming on," said Katherine, pulling herself together.
"I hope you will pay me a visit someday. I should like to show you my
dear little Charlie. He has a great look of my mother, especially his
eyes; they are _just_ like hers."
"If you will allow me to come some Sunday----"
"Certainly. You will sympathise with Miss Payne. She shares your
deep-rooted distrust of your fellow-creatures. Yet even _she_ has some
faint faith in Rachel Trant."
"That is the best symptom about the affair I have yet heard of.
By-the-bye, this Miss Payne has made you comfortable? she has been a
successful experiment?"
"Very successful indeed. I quite like her, and respect her; but I shall
not stay longer than the time I agreed for. I want to make a home for
the boys and myself."
"What! Will Mrs. Ormonde give them up?"
"Not avowedly, but they will ultimately glide into my hands."
"I trust you will not regret the charge you are taking on yourself."
"I do not fear failure. These children are a great source of pleasure to
me."
A few more words, a promise on Mr. Newton's part to hurry matters, and
Katherine, bidding him adieu for the present, descended to the brougham
which she usually hired for distant expeditions. Ordering the coachman
to stop at Howell& James', Katherine leaned back and reflected on the
interview with Mr. Newton. No doubt he thought he had given her a good
deal of curious information. If he only knew what a living lie she was!
Her duplicity met her at every turn, and cried shame upon her. However,
she had the pardon and permission of him against whom she had chiefly
offended; that counted for much. Still, it was too hard a punishment
that the ghost of her transgression should thus cry out against her, and
she had done her best to rectify it. She felt profoundly depressed. It
was an effort to execute the commissions intrusted to her by Miss Payne.
These performed, she was leaving the shop, when a gentleman who was
passing rapidly almost ran against her. He paused and raised his hat as
if to apologize. It was Errington.
"Miss Liddell!" he exclaimed, a startled, pleased look animating his
eyes. "I understood you were out of town. I hardly hoped to meet you
again."
Katherine flushed up, and then grew white. "I have been out of town ever
since--" Since what?--that turning-point in her life when she confessed
all to him?
"And I have been _in_ town," rejoined Errington. "It is not nearly so
bad as some people imagine. Where are you staying?"
"Oh, I am always with Miss Payne, in Wilton Street."
"I remember. But I am keeping you standing. May I come and see you?"
"Oh no; I would rather not," cried Katherine, with an irresistible
impulse which she regretted the next moment.
"You are always frank," said Errington, with a kind smile, yet in a
disappointed tone. "I will not intrude, then. How are your nephews, and
Mrs. Ormonde? I seem to have lost sight of every one, for I have become
a very busy man."
"Yes, I know," she returned, her color going and coming, her heart
beating so fast she could hardly speak. "I must seem so rude! But I have
read some of your papers in _The Age_. It must, indeed, take time and
study to produce such articles."
"And patience on the part of a young lady to wade through them."
"No; they always interest me, even when a little over my head. Though I
do not want you to come and see me, I am always so glad to hear about
you, to know you are well."
"Then why avoid me?"
"How can I help it?"--looking at him with dewy eyes and quivering lips.
"Well, I must accept your decision. I wish--But I will not detain you."
He opened the carriage door and handed her in.
For an instant her eyes sought his with a wistful, deprecating look,
then she said, "Tell him 'home,' please," and she drove off.
The encounter unhinged her for the day. Why had he crossed her path, and
why had she allowed herself to reject his friendly offer to come and see
her? Yet it would have made her miserable to bear the quiet scrutiny of
his eyes through a whole visit. He had evidently quite forgiven her, but
that could not restore her self-respect or render her less keenly alive
to the silent reproach of his presence. And yet it was pleasant to hear
him speak, his voice was so clear, so well modulated, so intelligent.
And how well he looked!--better and brighter than she had ever seen him.
It was evident that he was not breaking his heart about Lady Alice. How
could she have given him up?
Though nothing was more natural or probable than that they should meet
when both lived in the same town, huge as it is, it was an immense
surprise to Katherine, who had somehow come to the conclusion that they
were never to set eyes on each other again. This impression upset her.
She was constantly on the outlook for Errington wherever she drove or
walked, and the composure which she had been diligently, and with a sort
of sad resignation to Errington's wishes, building up, was replaced by a
feverish, restless anticipation of she knew not what.
The result was increased eagerness to see the completion of her
dressmaking scheme, and she made Mr. Newton's life a burden to him till
all was accomplished.
In this she found a shrewd assistant in Mrs. Needham, who took up the
cause furiously, and drove hither and thither, exhorting, entreating,
commanding, and really bringing in customers, somewhat to Katherine's
surprise, as she did not expect much wool from so great a cry.
Shortly before Christmas Miss Trant's establishment was in full working
order, a couple of clever assistants had been engaged, and Rachel
herself seemed to wake up to the full energy of her nature under the
spur of responsibility.
The affair was not brought to a conclusion, however, without a struggle
on the part of Mr. Newton against Katherine's resolution not to appear
in the matter. The house was bought in Rachel Trant's name, the sale was
made to her, and Miss Liddell's name never appeared. Newton declared it
to be sheer madness; even Bertie Payne considered it unwise; but
Katherine was immovable.
"I am Miss Trant's creditor," she said. "If successful, she will pay me:
if not, why, she will give up the house to me. I have full faith in her,
and I wish her to be perfectly unshackled in the undertaking. As the
owner of a house she will more readily obtain any credit she may need."
"Which means," said Mr. Newton, crossly, "that you will have to pay her
debts if you ever intend to get possession of the house."
"Well, I have made up my mind to the risk," returned Katherine, with
smiling determination; "so we will say no more about it."
The unexpected meeting with Errington haunted Katherine for many a day,
and many a night was broken by unpleasant dreams. She was filled with
regret for having so hastily refused his proffered visit. Yet had he
come she would have been uneasy in his presence. She longed to see him
again; she came home from driving or walking each day with aching eyes
and dulled heart because she had been disappointed in encountering him.
Yet she dreaded to meet him, and trembled at the idea of speaking to
him. She was dismayed at the restless dissatisfaction of her own mind.
Was she never to find peace? never to know real enjoyment in her
ill-gotten fortune? Why was it that the image of this man was
perpetually before her, the sound of his voice in her ears? Then the
answer of her inner consciousness came to overwhelm her with shame and
confusion: "Because you love him with all the strength and fervor of a
heart that has never frittered away its force in senseless flirtations
or passing fancies." This was the climax of misfortune. To know that the
one of all others she most looked up to must, in spite of his kind
forbearance, despise her as a cheat. Surely it was a sufficient
punishment for a delicately proud woman to know that she had given her
love unasked. All that remained for her was to hide her deep wounds,
that by stifling the new and vivid feelings which troubled her they
would die out, and so leave her in a state of monotonous repose. She
would endeavor by all possible means to win forgetfulness.
When Cis came back for the Christmas holidays, therefore, he found his
auntie ready to go out with Charlie and himself to circus and pantomime,
Polytechnic and wax-works, to his heart's content. It was not a brisk
frosty Christmas, or she would no doubt have been with them on the ice,
and the round of boyish dissipations called forth an oracular sentence
from Miss Payne. "It's just as well those boys are going back to school,
Katherine. You are more foolish about them than you used to be, and if
they staid on you would completely ruin them."
Just before the holidays were over, Mrs. Ormonde visited London, or
rather paused in passing through from the distinguished Christmas
gathering to which, to her pride and satisfaction, she had been invited
at Lady Mary Vincent's. The little boys were indifferently glad to see
her, and with the jealousy inherent in a disposition such as hers she
was vexed at not being first with her own boys, yet delighted to hand
over the care and trouble of them to any one who would undertake it.
These mixed feelings ruffled the bright surface of her self-content,
inflated as it was by her increasing social success.
She chose to put up at a quiet hotel in Dover Street rather than accept
Katherine's and Miss Payne's joint invitation to Wilton Street.
"I know you will not mind, Katie dear," she said, as she sat at tea (to
which refreshment she had invited her sister-in-law). "You see if it
were your own house, quite your own, I should prefer staying with you to
going anywhere else. As it is----"
"You are quite right to please yourself," put in Katherine.
"Yes, you are always kind and considerate. But, do you know, both
Colonel Ormonde and I are very anxious you should establish yourself on
a proper footing. Believe me, you do not take the social position you
ought, living with an obscure old maid like Miss Payne"--this in a tone
of strong common-sense. "The proper place for you is with us at
Castleford in the autumn and winter, and a house in town with us in the
spring. Then you and I might go abroad sometimes together, and leave
Ormonde to his turnips and hunting. You would be sure to marry
well--quite sure."
"But I am going to settle myself in a house of my own this spring," said
Katherine, smiling.
Against this project Mrs. Ormonde exhausted herself in eloquent if
contradictory argument: but finding she made no impression, suddenly
changed the subject. "That is a very expensive school you have chosen
for the boys, Katherine. 'Duke thinks it ridiculous. Sixty pounds a year
for such a little fellow as Cis! and now Charlie will cost as much."
"It is not cheap, certainly; but it is, I think, worth the money. Cecil
has improved marvellously, and Sandbourne agrees so well with them
both."
"You will do as you think best, of course. We have the highest regard
for your opinion. But you must remember that what with clothes and
travelling and--oh, and doctors!--it all comes to more than three
hundred a year, and at Castleford I could keep them for next to nothing,
while the stingy trustees you have chosen only allow me four hundred and
fifty."
"So you have only about a hundred and fifty out of the total for your
personal expenses, eh?" said Katherine, laughing. "Then you have a
husband behind you."
"Oh, I assure you that does not count for much. 'Duke doesn't care to
spend money, and my having something of my own makes matters wonderfully
smooth. I am sure you would not like to make any unhappiness between
us."
"No, certainly not. I think it quite right, as my brother's widow, you
should have something for yourself as long as you live."
"You really have a great sense of justice, Katherine, I must say! Living
as you do, dear, you can form no idea what it costs to present an
appearance when you are in a certain set."
"I don't suppose I ever shall, though I like nice clothes too."
"And look so well in them!" added Mrs. Ormonde, who was always ready,
when she deemed it necessary, to burn the incense of flattery on her
sister-in-law's shrine. "By-the-way, that is a very pretty, well-made
costume you have on. I think you are slighter than you used to be."
"The effect of a good fit. I wish you would employ my dressmaker. She is
very moderate."
"Is she?"
A short discussion of prices followed, and Mrs. Ormonde declared she
would call on Miss Trant that very afternoon and bespeak two dresses,
for all she had were quite familiar to the eyes of her associates.
"I suppose you have heard or seen nothing of De Burgh lately?" exclaimed
Mrs. Ormonde, suddenly.
"No, not for a long time."
"He has been away--somewhere in Hungary, hunting or shooting--and then
he has been staying with old Lord de Burgh. They used hardly to speak,
and now he seems taken into favor. He is a curious sort of man, and he
can be _so_ insolent! How he will put his foot on people's necks when he
gets the old man's title and wealth!"
"If they let him," said Katherine, quietly.
"As he is in town, I thought he might have called on you. He was always
running down to that stupid place in the summer, so I----"
"Mr. De Burgh!" said a waiter, opening the door with a burst.
"Talk of an angel!" cried Mrs. Ormonde, rising to receive him with a
welcoming smile. "My sister was just saying it was a long time since she
had seen you."
Katherine felt annoyed at the thoughtless speech--if it _was_
thoughtless. However, she kept a composed air, though the varying color
which she never could regulate told De Burgh that she was not unmoved.
"And probably hoped it would be longer," he replied, as he shook hands
with Mrs. Ormonde, but only bowed to Miss Liddell.
"Don't answer him," cried the former; "such decided fishing does not
deserve success."
"I will not," said Katherine, with a kind smile. She was too thorough a
woman not to have a soft corner in her heart for the man who had
professed, with so convincing an air of sincerity, to love her with all
his heart.
It did not, however, seem to please or displease him, for he sat down
beside the tea-table with his usual unaffected ease, and addressed his
conversation to Mrs. Ormonde.
"Just heard from Carew that you were in town, and I have only escaped
from Pontygarvan, where I have been playing the dutiful kinsman to my
immortal relative. I don't know which is most to be avoided, his enmity
or his liking. He is an amusing old cynic at times, but a born despot.
He only let me away to prosecute a scheme that he has taken up, and
which I have gone pretty deeply into myself."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde, handing him some tea. "Have you turned
promoter, or--"
"Well, I am going to be my own promoter; time only will show how I'll
succeed. You must both give me your best wishes."
"I am sure I do," said Mrs. Ormonde.
De Burgh raised his eyes slowly to Katherine's. She had not spoken.
"Don't _you_ wish me success? No; I thought you didn't."
"I wish you all possible happiness," she said, in a low tone.
"Have you quarrelled with Katherine, or offended her, that she is so
implacable?" asked Mrs. Ormonde.
"Neither, I hope. Now what are you doing in the way of amusement? Have
you seen a play since you came up? The pantomimes are still on at the
big theatres. But I want you to come and see _Ours_ at the Prince of
Wales on Thursday; it's very good in parts. Then if you'll sup with me
after, at my rooms, I'll get Carew and Brereton and one or two others to
meet you."
"It would be very nice!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormonde.
"Thank you," returned Katherine. "I am, strange to say, going to a party
on Thursday."
"To a party! How extraordinary! Where, Katherine?"
"To Lady Barrington's--a lady I knew in Florence, and who has invited me
repeatedly."
"I am sure I am very glad you are coming out of your shell at last.
Where does this Lady Barrington live?"
"In Lancaster Square, not far from my abode."
"Well, let us say Friday for _Ours_," said De Burgh; "for I too am going
to Lady Barrington's on Thursday."
"Then why did you invite us for that evening?" cried Mrs. Ormonde.
"I could have gone afterwards. Lady Barrington's gatherings are always
late."
"You really know every one."
"Oh, not every one, Mrs. Ormonde."
"Then our 'play' is not to come off unless Katherine is to be of the
party"--rather pettishly.
"If you like I will take you on Thursday, and Miss Liddell (if she will
allow me) on Friday."
"What nonsense! We will all go together on Friday. Katie, do you think
this friend of yours would invite me? I don't care to mope here when you
are out enjoying yourself."
"I am sure she would be very pleased to see you. I will write and ask
her for an invitation as soon as I go home." Katherine rose as she
spoke.
"Do, like a good girl; and I will go and interview this dressmaker of
yours. Till to-morrow, then."
The little woman stood on tiptoe to kiss her tall sister-in-law, who
left the room, followed by De Burgh.
"Haven't I been a reasonable, well-behaved fellow not to have haunted or
worried you all these months? Will you let me come and tell you how wise
and staid and prudent I have become?" he said.
He spoke half in jest, but there was a wonderfully appealing look in his
eyes.
"I am very glad to hear it, Mr. De Burgh. I hope you will go on and
prosper."
"And will you shut your doors against me if I call?"
"No; why should I?"
"Thanks! How heavenly it is to see you again! though you don't look
quite as bright as you did at Sandbourne. Is this your carriage? I see
you have not started a turn-out of your own yet."
"And never shall, probably."
"Not, at all events, till you have appointed your 'master of the horse.'
Good-by till to-morrow night."
He handed her carefully into the brougham, and stood looking after it as
she drove away.