AT WOODBURN.
The happy change which had come over Lady Forestfield's life had its
effect in restoring her bodily health and, to a certain degree, her
mental quietude. When Uffington first told her that her husband had
consented to her taking up her abode at Woodburn she had ventured upon
some slight objection. The place, beautiful as it was, had not, in her
most favourable recollection of it, been what, according to her
present idea, a home should be. It had been filled with people whom
she never cared to see again, and had been the scene of many
escapades, in which Mrs. Ingram, Lady Northaw, and their friends had
played the principal characters, and the very memory of which was now
repulsive to May. She had never known the place more than as one
where, though nominally the mistress, she had really left all the
arrangements to the housekeeper, and contented herself with the
leading part in the follies which were perpetrated. And then there was
the recollection of the last time she had visited Woodburn; that fatal
night when, after having been spurned by her husband, she had sunk
senseless on the door-step, and had been carried away, how she knew
not. It was impossible, she thought, that she could go there; but
Uffington firmly, but with great delicacy, urged her to reconsider
this determination, pointing out the necessity of her being in her
husband's house, and promising her, not merely the utmost respect and
the acknowledgment of her proper position from the servants, which was
guaranteed by Lord Forestfield's own written order, but the certainty
of a quiet unmolested life.
So Lady Forestfield came to Woodburn, and a very few days after her
arrival acknowledged to herself the wisdom of Uffington's counsel. The
fresh pure air brought back the roses to her cheeks; and in her daily
wanderings in the park and through the surrounding woods she gradually
acquired the calm happiness and peace of mind which nature can alone
restore to a soul that has been bruised and buffeted in its conflict
with the world. Hitherto, at least since the days of her childhood,
May had had but little appreciation of the beauties of nature; the
park had been merely so much land lying between the house and the
village, and she had only visited the woods for the sake of having
luncheon with a shooting-party. Now all their beauties were gradually
revealed to her. She would sit for hours in an oriel window of a
little room which she had taken for her own, and which overlooked the
park, watching the sun doing battle with the heavy dun autumnal
clouds, and the wide expanse of landscape kindling into light. She
took delight even in gazing on the great bare fields whence the golden
grain had been reaped and carried, and the long ranges of hops
gathered by the busy pickers, their dark poles, piled together in
fantastic shapes, alone remaining to remind one of their recent
existence. She loved to ramble in the home wood, which on her first
arrival had been a sombre mass of dark green, and which now stood out
flecked here and there with tints of yellow, brown, and red. For all
she met she had a kindly greeting and a pleasant word. The husbandman,
tramping over the newly-turned fresh-smelling earth as his furrow made
the never-varying pattern, and the toiling many-childrened women in
the cottages, for the first time began to understand that the 'people
in the 'All' could take any interest in their welfare. When the days
were wet, too, May was never dull or depressed; for the library was
filled with books, and literature, which in her childhood she had
loved so much, but had so long left unheeded, now again became her
constant solace; and in her walks and drives, in her studies and
endeavours to help the poor of the estate, May had a ready and
intelligent companion in Eleanor Irvine, who, at her urgent request,
came to her almost as soon as she was settled at Woodburn, and had
remained with her ever since.
How this happy change in her life had been brought about, how Lord
Forestfield had been induced to forego the further proceedings against
her, and to consent to her being reinstalled in her own proper
position, she had never learned; but she knew generally that it was
Uffington's work, and to him she was proportionately grateful. She had
scarcely seen him since she had been at Woodburn, but had received
several letters written in the common-sense friendly spirit which had
characterised all his communications with her. She found herself
wondering what had led him--whom all the world looked on as a
heartless cynic--to feel such interest in her, and take the trouble
which she knew he must have taken in order to compel her husband to
give up his long-cherished scheme of revenge, and to restore her to
that position from which he imagined he had completely ousted her.
'He cannot be as cynical as people say,' thought May. 'I remember
having heard that he had some great trouble in his early life, and the
effect of that has probably been to make him eschew society and the
pleasures which society affects; and the people whom he has scorned
have repaid him by branding him as a cynic. As to his real goodness of
heart, however, there can be no doubt. It has been sufficiently proved
by the generosity with which, at what trouble to himself I shall never
know, he has advocated my cause. I wonder whether admiration of
Eleanor has anything to do with it? It seems almost ungenerous in me
to suspect such a thing for an instant; and yet there is no doubt that
Eleanor is very good-looking, and that Sir Nugent has always shown the
kindliest feeling towards her. It would be strange indeed if my
misfortune should be the means of bringing together the two persons
who have been kindest to me in my trouble.'
This idea presented itself pretty frequently to May's mind. Since she
had been taken into Eleanor's confidence respecting her rejection of
Spiridion Pratt, and by her counsel had enabled that romantic
gentleman to bear his disappointment with greater fortitude than at
one time he believed would have been possible, Lady Forestfield had
given great consideration to Eleanor's future. The mere fact of having
herself made an unhappy match did not make May think it necessary to
indulge in invective against the matrimonial state, and she allowed to
herself that Eleanor's gentle disposition, patient temper, and clear
common sense eminently fitted her for a wife. She would have been
completely thrown away upon Mr. Pratt, with whom she had not one
single sentiment in common, and whom she had always regarded with a
feeling of contempt softened by pity. The man whom Eleanor should
marry, thought May, must be one whom she could look up to, and who
would expect to find in his wife some more sterling qualities than the
stock-in-trade of those which constitute a frivolous woman of the
world.
Oddly enough the conversation between the two friends, which had
ranged over most topics, had never touched upon this, until one day
when, warmly wrapped up in furs--for the first breath of winter was in
the air--they were driving in May's pony-phaeton in the park; and thus
it came about.
'I have a letter from your sister this morning, Eleanor,' said Lady
Forestfield, 'written in remarkably good spirits, and with many
affectionate messages to you. She seems to have quite forgiven your
_bouleversement_ of her favourite plan for marrying you to Mr.
Spiridion Pratt.'
'I knew that her anger on that account would not last very long,' said
Eleanor. 'You don't know Fanny, dear May; but when you do you will
find that she is the most extraordinary reflection of all that is
passing around her. During the season she saw all her friends, and
those whose example she thinks fit to copy, intent on matrimonial
schemes; Fanny did not like to be out of the fashion, and fortunately
there I was ready to her hand. The next thing was to look round for
the other victim, and she speedily settled upon poor Mr. Pratt, who, I
firmly believe, was never more astonished in his life than when it was
first hinted to him that he was desperately in love with me. This
attempt at match-making served to amuse Fanny during the season, and
having talked of it so much, she had really begun herself to believe
in its possibility, and was therefore vexed when she found I could not
be so easily disposed of. But I knew her annoyance would soon be over,
and therefore I am not surprised at what you tell me.'
'She seems to be a very forgiving person,' said May, with the least
tone of malice in her voice. 'You remember my discovering the
difficulties you had in coming to me in Podbury-street, when you told
me her objections and the strict surveillance in which she kept you.
Her sentiments as regards me must also have undergone a great change,
for she not only writes in the most friendly manner, but says that she
and Mr. Chadwick will be delighted to accept the invitation I sent
them to come and spend a fortnight here.'
'Fanny is very human, dearest May,' said Eleanor, with a blush. 'I was
perfectly certain that so soon as your time of trouble was over, and
you were restored to your old position, she would be quite as much in
your favour as she had been the reverse. And so she, is coming down to
stay here. It was out of kindness for me that you asked her, I know.'
'Not entirely,' said May. 'I don't pretend to say that I thought you
had been dull with me alone, for I know that is not the case, but
still I thought that we had been travelling over each other's minds
long enough, and that a little diversity would be agreeable. Besides,
I very much wanted to see something of Mr. Chadwick. I have heard from
more than one quarter of the kind way in which he was in the habit of
speaking of me at the time when I wanted a friend, and I wished to
thank him in person.'
'Don't do that, or you will offend him for ever,' said Eleanor. 'He is
the kindest, best-hearted man in the world--a little rough, perhaps,
but a thorough gentleman in every thought.'
'You have not yet learned the extent of my company,' said May, looking
maliciously at her friend. 'I have a great idea that perhaps the
_fiasco_ which Mrs. Chadwick so deplored last season was caused by her
own mismanagement; so that in order that she may have another chance
of carrying out that project upon which her heart was at one time set,
and that I may give her the benefit of my assistance, I have invited
Mr. Pratt to stay down here at the same time--and, what is more, he is
coming.'
'How can you be so ridiculous!' said Eleanor. 'You know you have done
nothing of the kind!'
'Most certainly, and in all seriousness, I have, dear; not, of course,
with any such idea as I have just suggested, but simply because he is
a pleasant little man, whose admiration for you has now toned down
into a sincere and genuine regard, and for whom I myself have a real
liking. I wonder,' she said suddenly, after a pause--'I wonder whether
Sir Nugent Uffington would care to come here for a few days?'
Eleanor looked quickly round at her, but seemed reassured by the calm,
though earnest, expression on her friend's face.
'It is impossible to say,' she said; 'but I think he would like it
very much. He seemed on the only occasion on which I saw them together
to be impressed by Mr. Chadwick's honest common sense; and Fanny now
thinks there is nobody like him.'
'That ought to be my opinion,' said May quietly; 'for though the
subject has never been mentioned between us, I am certain that I owe
all the good which has lately happened to me to Sir Nugent Uffington's
interposition with my husband.'
'You think it?' said Eleanor.
'I am sure of it,' replied May; 'though how it was brought about I
have not the least idea. Sir Nugent has a strangely determined manner
with him, and when he first became interested about me he bade me not
to cease hoping for better days. Even then, when everything was at its
worst and blackest, I derived some kind of comfort from his words, and
I feel now that I am indebted to him for what has been my restoration
to life.'
Again Eleanor looked keenly at her friend, and was again satisfied at
May's appearance.
'It is strange that a man like that,' said May, 'should never have
married; so far as one can judge, he has all the qualifications for
making a woman happy.'
'There is, is there not,' said Eleanor, 'some story about him, some
romantic adventure of his youth, which soured his disposition and
brought on him that cynicism which men are always talking of but which
I in vain have tried to discover?'
'He is not, I imagine, so cynical or so hard as he was,' said May.
'Mr. Eardley, who came to see me once or twice, told me he had never
seen a man so much changed, and wondered to what influence the
alteration could be ascribed.'
'Probably to longer life and greater experience,' said Eleanor
demurely.
'I doubt that very much,' said May, with a smile. 'In default of some
more powerful motive, Sir Nugent's nature would remain stubborn to the
last. However, probably longer life has something to do with the other
part of the question which we were discussing. It may be that most
girls would think him too old for a husband.'
'That would not be the verdict of any girl with a particle of common
sense, I should think,' said Eleanor. 'I know comparatively very
little of him, and yet even I have seen him at times when he has
thrown off the air of reserve which he habitually wears, and been as
young as anybody present.'
May marked the eager manner and quick tone in which these words were
said, and at once drew her own conclusions.
'I think, then, I will ask Sir Nugent down,' she said; 'running the
risk of his being bored by us all. If, as it seems, he has taken to
Mr. Chadwick, he can at least always find with him a refuge from
female society.'
Eleanor did not reply to this last sentence. Perhaps she had her own
reasons for thinking, or at all events for hoping, that from certain
female society Nugent Uffington would make no attempt to escape. From
the time of that conversation Eleanor was brighter, and evidently
happier than she had been during the whole of her stay at Woodburn.
She was pleased to think that Uffington was coming to Woodburn, that
she would have constant opportunities of being with him, and of
listening to his best thoughts and aspirations in that voice which she
knew was softer and more musical in its tone when addressed to her
than to any other person, even to May. Even to May? Yes, Eleanor was
very much pleased that she had had that conversation, for it had set
her mind completely at rest on a point which for some time had caused
her much disquietude. There was no question about it now, she thought;
she had looked into May's eyes, and read there what must be the truth.
She could go on very quietly now, and that sinking of the heart which
she felt occasionally when she used to see May Forestfield and Nugent
Uffington much together would come no more.
Two days later Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick and Mr. Pratt, travelling
together, arrived at Woodburn, and were all received with much
cordiality by Lady Forestfield. Mrs. Chadwick professed herself
delighted to see Eleanor again, and congratulated her upon the
improvement in her looks. 'It is all the country air and your sweet
society, dear Lady Forestfield,' she said. 'I am determined, come what
may, that nothing shall keep me in town during the autumn months
again; and if Mr. Chadwick is compelled to remain there to attend to
his business, I shall not stay with him; so I give him fair notice.'
'Halloo, that will never do,' cried Mr. Chadwick. 'I don't mind your
imitating the swells in most ways, Fanny, but that is one of their
plans that I will never have followed. To have and to hold, sickness
and health, richer and poorer, death do us part--that is what we
settled, you know, in St. George's Church, and that is what I mean us
both to stick to.'
'My dear James!' murmured Mrs. Chadwick.
'I can perfectly understand Mr. Chadwick's feelings,' said May, with a
bright blush in her face, 'and I highly applaud his resolution. The
less that husband and wife are parted the better, be sure, for their
domestic happiness.'
'Well, at all events,' said Mr. Pratt, with more than usual tact,
seeing the awkwardness of the situation, 'there is no reason why a
bachelor need stay in town. I have done so this year of my own free
will; and I must say that, all things considered, I have enjoyed
myself very much.'
'Is that really so?' said Mrs. Chadwick, looking at him meaningly.
'Yes, indeed,' said Spiridion, meeting the glance with good-humoured
firmness. 'I daresay that perhaps, physically, I might have been
better if I had gone to Ems or Carlsbad; but, morally, I found the air
of London this autumn quite bracing--very bracing, indeed.'
'You have got a fine place here, Lady Forestfield,' said Mr. Chadwick,
who did not understand any of these side allusions, walking into a bow
window, and looking round upon the prospect. 'This bears out what I
have always said--the North is well enough for business, but give me
the South for pleasure. Now in the North at this time of year, and at
this time of day, you would have a great thick fog looming all over
here, so that you could not see your hand before your face, and there
would be a real taste of coal-dust in your mouth. What's here in front
beautiful turf would be brown or black swampy stuff; and them woods
beyond would have lost all their pretty leaves, and been nowt but a
bundle of sticks.'
'I only hope you will be able to amuse yourself while you are here,
Mr. Chadwick,' said May. 'The head keeper gives plenty of promise of
sport, if you are fond of shooting.'
'Yes, my lady,' answered Mr. Chadwick, in his old-fashioned manner; 'I
have been fond of shooting ever since I was a boy, and used to go out
on Sunday mornings at Jarrow a-birding with an old horse-pistol. I
have had some great times since then, battoos, as they call 'em, and
wholesale slaughter of all kinds; but I doubt if I really enjoyed any
of it so much as those Sunday mornings.'
'You will have a companion in your sport in a day or two,' said May;
'Sir Nugent Uffington has promised to come down on Thursday.'
'Sir Nugent coming?' cried Mrs. Chadwick. 'That is delightful news; he
is a most charming man!'
'Yes, he is a good fellow,' said Mr. Chadwick. 'I took a liking to him
the first time I saw him, because I thought he spoke up so well and
pluckily about--'
And here the fact of its having been Lady Forestfield's case which Sir
Nugent Uffington had so promptly and readily defended came in full
force upon Mr. Chadwick, causing him to stop abruptly and to become
purple in the face.
Fortunately Mr. Pratt was fully equal to the occasion. 'When you tell
Mr. Chadwick that he will not have a companion for a day or two, Lady
Forestfield,' he said, with a smile, 'I see you perfectly appreciate
my performances in the field. To tell the truth, I never could see the
pleasure of tramping about over stubble and furrow, tiring yourself to
death, and rendering your shoulder painful for a week.'
'He is more delightful than ever,' whispered Mrs. Chadwick to her
hostess. 'I was afraid that Eleanor's behaviour to him might have
caused some coolness between us; but he seems to have quite got over
what I cannot help even to you, her great friend, Lady Forestfield,
calling her rather cruel treatment of him; and though I confess I was
disappointed at the failure of a plan which I certainly could not have
espoused if I had not thought it would have been for the good of all,
I am delighted to say it has had one excellent result, which I may
tell you in confidence.' Then, dropping her voice to a tragic whisper,
she said: 'He has completely broken with that person.'
'Indeed!' said Lady Forestfield, who took not the least interest, and
scarcely understood what was said; 'I am glad to hear it.'
'Completely broken with her,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'and I am sure all
who have any sense of decency and self-respect must be delighted to
hear it.'
The next morning, as they were returning from an early drive round the
park, Lady Forestfield saw a telegraph messenger entering the lodge
gate, and beckoning him to her, received from him a message with which
he was proceeding to the house. It was from Sir Nugent Uffington, and
ran as follows:
'Most important. I am coming down by next train, and must see you, as
I return to town to-night.'
May's heart sank within her with a sense of impending trouble as she
read these words, and Eleanor, to whom she handed the message, turned
pale as death.