UFFINGTON'S ERRAND.
The message which the telegraph-boy brought to Woodburn had the effect
of throwing a chill upon the spirits of the party, and caused more
than ordinary consternation in the breasts of two of its members.
As soon as they reached the house Lady Forestfield retired to her
room, not even asking Eleanor to bear her company, so deeply did she
feel the necessity for silence and cogitation. Once there, she turned
the key in the door to prevent any attempt at intrusion; for she knew
Mrs. Chadwick to be one of those persons who are always most inclined
to gossip at inconvenient seasons; and settling herself in her
favourite chair in the oriel window, gave herself up to thinking of
possibilities.
Taking the telegram from her pocket, she reperused it quietly. 'Most
important,'--those were the first words. Sir Nugent Uffington, as she
well knew, was anything but impulsive, and not in the least likely to
use a term stronger than the occasion warranted; nor was it at all
probable that, as he had arranged to visit Woodburn at the latter end
of the week, and to spend some days there, he would come down,
especially for a few hours, unless the business which brought him was
of a pressing and particular nature. What could that business be? The
first idea that occurred to Lady Forestfield's mind was that the
influence, whatever it might have been, which had induced her husband
to restore her to her former position, had waned; that the divorce
action would be proceeded with, and she would again be driven forth an
outcast on the world. The possibility, not the probability, of this
being the explanation of the telegram was all that occurred to her;
but she yet turned it over in her mind as though it were already an
accomplished fact. It would be very terrible, she thought, to have
again to face that wretched solitary life in the dull lodging, with
all its sordid and mean surroundings; to have her miserable story
again publicly commented on, and privately bandied from mouth to
mouth, by those amongst whom her name was no more mentioned, and her
very existence had long since been forgotten; it would be hard to give
up that fresh love of life which, since her residence at Woodburn, had
dawned upon her simultaneously with her appreciation of nature and the
exquisite enjoyment of the country.
If this supposition were correct, she must have been at fault in the
idea that the recent change in Lord Forestfield's conduct had been
produced by Sir Nugent Uffington's agency, for she knew Uffington too
well to suspect for a moment that anything which he had once taken in
hand could be suffered to fail. What, then, could it be? For an
instant a burning flush suffused May's neck as a thought, to which she
had hitherto never dared to give attention, flashed across her mind.
Could it be possible that this close and constant intimacy into which
they had been thrown had led him to think of her with something warmer
than those feelings of friendship which he had never indeed openly
professed, but which by every action he had manifested towards her?
She herself knew that for her own part--No, under other circumstances
it might have been possible, but now it was hopeless; she had hitherto
succeeded in prohibiting such a thought from entering her breast, and
it should find a place there no more.
What could it be, then? Could it be the question of Eleanor's future
that brought Sir Nugent thither in such haste? From the conversation
which she had had with her friend, May was certain that Eleanor was
deeply impressed with Uffington, and that though perhaps her rejection
of Spiridion Pratt was not entirely influenced by that feeling, it was
tolerably certain that, if Uffington had been the suitor, he would
have received a very different reply. The spirit and eagerness with
which Eleanor had combated the idea of his being too old to marry a
young girl had given May a complete insight into her friend's
feelings, and if Uffington's errand were to propose for Eleanor
Irvine, its success was assured. May could not, however, think that
this could be the case; Sir Nugent was to have come down in a few
days, and would then have taken advantage of the opportunity to
propose for the girl's hand if he had any such intention. It was
entirely unlike him to make a special excursion for the purpose, which
would necessarily lead to comment and question; moreover, it was to
herself, Lady Forestfield, that the telegram was addressed, and the
request that she should remain at home was made to her. May gave it up
in despair; she was totally unable to divine the cause of Uffington's
coming unless it related to private affairs of his own, and she could
scarcely think that concerning them it could be necessary to consult
her.
May was not the only one who was brooding over what the message might
portend; Eleanor Irvine, so soon as she could rid herself of the fussy
companionship of Mrs. Chadwick, devoted her energies to its solution.
To her the fact that the writer attached importance to an interview
with Lady Forestfield seemed of alarming significance. More than once
during the last few months Eleanor's heart had been wrung with the
idea that an attachment had innocently, and perhaps without their
knowing it, sprung up between May Forestfield and Sir Nugent
Uffington. It seemed to her impossible that two such persons could be
thrown together without falling in love with each other, for May, in
Eleanor's eyes, was the prettiest, the sweetest, the most lovable of
women; while, as for Uffington, when her own heart told her that she
loved him with all the admiration and affection of which her deep
strong nature was capable, she, of course, thought that every other
woman must be similarly fascinated. May had never given her the
smallest hint to lead her to believe in the existence of such a state
of things, and, indeed, during their last conversation when the merits
of Uffington and the reasons for his having hitherto remained
unmarried had been fully discussed, Eleanor had taken the opportunity
of narrowly watching Lady Forestfield, and was at the time convinced
that no feeling stronger than grateful friendship had dictated her
panegyrics. Of Uffington, however, Eleanor had never been so sure. She
had fancied once or twice that he seemed attached to herself, but in
such matters had had little experience, and thought she might possibly
have been deceived. It seemed almost absurd to think that a man of
such taste and refinement could have been thrown so much as he had
recently been into the society of a woman like May without bowing to
the spell which her beauty and fascination never failed to exercise.
And if such were the case, if Uffington's errand were to implore May
to let the decree _nisi_ be confirmed and to trust her future to him,
Eleanor felt certain that May would not have the power to resist. What
would then become of her?
Mrs. Chadwick, from the sanctity of the connubial bedchamber, screamed
to Mr. Chadwick, who was washing his hands before luncheon in the
adjacent dressing-room, that she thought both Lady Forestfield and
Eleanor were 'behaving very oddly,' but she had little idea what was
going on or what importance was attached both by her sister and her
hostess to the message which had just arrived. Mr. Chadwick, who was
always good-tempered, contented himself by remarking that apparently
something was 'up,' but that it was 'none of their business;' and
adroitly turned the subject by praising the beauty of the place and
the friendly warmth of their reception by Lady Forestfield.
They were all seated at luncheon, when a fly from the station was seen
coming up the avenue, and Lady Forestfield, asking her friends to
excuse her, at once proceeded to her boudoir, to which room she
directed her servants that Sir Nugent Uffington should be conducted.
That sad sinking of the heart, that painful feeling of impending
danger which she had before experienced, came upon her strongly as she
heard Uffington's footstep on the stairs; and, as the door opened, she
had to summon all her fortitude to avoid fainting.
Uffington was perhaps a thought paler than usual, and looked anxious
and careworn. He advanced towards Lady Forestfield in his usual
earnest manner, and taking her hand, and holding it for an instant in
his grasp, he said: 'You received the telegram?'
'Certainly,' said May, 'and I was fully expecting you. You said that
your business was important--I fear also that your errand is a
melancholy one.'
'What makes you think that?' said Uffington, evading her gaze.
'I do not know--I cannot tell, save that I have a certain inward
consciousness of coming misery. I have been so happy for the last few
weeks that, perhaps, I am more acutely sensitive of even the shadow of
sorrow. But you yourself, Sir Nugent, look tired and worn--will you
not have some luncheon?'
'Not until I have explained my errand, which, as you have correctly
judged, is a melancholy one. You must hear with courage all I have to
say, and then quietly and deliberately make up your mind as to what is
the best course for you to pursue, for by what you do to-day the whole
tenor of your future life will be influenced.'
The burning flush which had suffused May's features during her
self-examination that morning crept over them again, caused by the
same thought; but as quickly as before she east it forth, and said:
'What have you to tell me?'
'I am here to speak to you of your husband; he is very ill.'
'Richard very ill!' cried May. 'Where is he? what is the matter with
him?'
'He is at the house in Seamore-place,' said Uffington. 'He was in an
unsettled, unhealthy state when he arrived there a few days ago from
Paris, where, for the last few weeks, he had been leading a hard life
and drinking to excess. Yesterday I chanced to call upon some
business, and found that during the night he had been attacked with
typhus fever. His recent career has been anything but favourable to
him under the circumstances, and the truth is that he is lying in a
very dangerous state.'
'Good Heavens, how dreadful' said May. 'Is he properly cared for?'
'Yes,' said Uffington. 'I inquired into that. His servant Stephens,
who remained with him in all his various fortunes, sent off at once
for Dr. Whitaker, who, as you know, had attended Forestfield once or
twice before. Whitaker fortunately was in town, and came at once.
Stephens told me that he shook his head when he saw the patient, and,
knowing the confidential position which Stephens occupied, told him
that he thought very badly of the case. And now, dear Lady
Forestfield, I am coming to what more immediately concerns you. From
something Stephens told me, I sent up for the nurse in attendance, and
had a little conversation with her. Afterwards I made a point of
seeing Dr. Whitaker, and from each of them I learned that both during
the time of delirium and in his saner moments Forestfield has made
frequent reference to you.'
'To me?' cried May, trembling from head to foot; 'to me?'
'To you,' said Uffington; 'speaking of you as his wife, calling on you
by your Christian name, and declaring that you are "his _after all_."
'O, thank God! thank God!' cried May, burying her face in her hands
and bursting into tears. 'I knew the time would come when he would say
that of me.'
'Do not excite yourself, for you will have need of your strength,'
said Uffington. 'The question is now, what do you think it right to
do?'
'What do I think it right to do?' repeated May, raising her head. 'Can
there be any question about it? Before you told me that he had
mentioned my name and spoken of me in that manner, I hesitated, simply
because I was afraid that my presence might irritate him and make him
worse; but now that I have heard what you said, I have no longer any
reason for indecision. Will you take me to Seamore-place at once?'
'I imagined that your good heart would prompt that determination,'
said Uffington; 'but, dear Lady Forestfield, it is my duty to lay the
case before you in all its bareness, and you must remember that if you
go to Seamore-place, and install yourself as Forestfield's nurse, as
is no doubt your intention, you run the greatest risk of catching the
fever.'
'I should be but little worth if I allowed such a consideration to
weigh with me for an instant,' said May, with a sad smile. 'My life
has not been so full of happiness that I need be particularly careful
of it, and there can be no doubt that my place at such a time is by my
husband's side. Will you take me with you back to town?'
'Certainly,' said Uffington. 'The express passes at five, and we will
go by that.'
'By that time I will have everything ready,' said Lady Forestfield,
'and in the mean while I will see Eleanor, tell her what has occurred,
and ask her to make my excuses to her sister, who has unfortunately
just arrived on a visit. And now for yourself, Sir Nugent. I am sure
you are sinking from hunger and fatigue, and I will order some fresh
luncheon for you at once.'
Mr. Chadwick, who seldom allowed anything to put him out, had
ensconced himself in a corner of the library, and deep in a volume of
the _Life of Joseph Locke_, was thoroughly enjoying the early
struggles of that celebrated engineer, whose career greatly resembled
his own, when he was startled by the loud tones of his wife's voice,
and looking up, saw that lady in a state of great agitation by his
side.
'O, here you are at last, James,' she said. 'I have been looking for
you all over the house, and never thought you would have hidden
yourself away among these dull, musty, old books. I wonder people of
position do not attend more to their libraries. Now on our shelves
there is not one single volume that is not handsomely bound.'
'Still, I would not mind swopping my book collection for this,' said
the boiler-maker, looking round him with pleased eyes--'there are some
rare works here, my Fan. However, I suppose it was not to talk about
books that you have been "hunting" me, as you say?'
'No, indeed,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'I have got the most extraordinary
news for you. O, what do you think was the business that brought Sir
Nugent Uffington here today?'
'Well, indeed, I cannot say,' said Mr. Chadwick reflectively, unless
it were to propose for our pretty Eleanor. 'I have fancied ever since
I first saw them together that Sir Nugent had a sneaking kindness for
that girl.'
'Propose for Eleanor, indeed!' cried Mrs. Chadwick; 'nothing of the
sort. No such idea ever entered Sir Nugent Uffington's head.
He has fixed his fancy on some one else; and he is very likely to have
his way.'
'Indeed!' said Mr. Chadwick, who, when the question of Eleanor was
thus disposed of, had no farther interest in Sir Nugent Uffington's
matrimonial project; 'indeed!'
'Yes,' said Mrs. Chadwick; 'and the chance has come about in this way.
Sir Nugent has come down to say that Lord Forestfield is very ill
indeed--almost dying, I believe--and that he wishes to be reconciled
to his wife before his death.
'That's good,' said honest Mr. Chadwick, slapping his great band on
the book to emphasise his declaration; 'that is the best thing I have
ever heard of that chap. And the poor lady, she is going, of course?'
'Of course?' repeated Mrs. Chadwick. 'I really do not see any "of
course" in the matter; considering the manner in which he has treated
her, and the horrible life which, according to Charley Qrmerod's
account, Lord Forestfield has been living for the last few months.
However, she is going, says that nothing in the world will keep her
away from him, and all that sort of thing, and has sent Eleanor to beg
us to accept her excuses for having to leave so hurriedly. Lady
Forestfield said, too, that if we thought the change was doing us
good, she would only be too delighted for us to remain, and Eleanor
would make an excellent hostess; but of course, that is out of the
question. What I am looking at is, what is to be the result of all
this?'
'The result of our not remaining?' asked Mr. Chadwick. 'I don't see
that that requires much foresight. Of course I shall go and take a
house at Brighton, and you will be very happy there till Christmas,
when we will return home.'
'You silly James, I did not mean that at all; I meant the result of
this illness and reconciliation and that--and I see it all. I have a
kind of inward conviction that Lord Forestfield will die, and then the
way will be clear for the others.'
'What others?' asked Mr. Chadwick, who did not follow the thread of
his wife's discourse, and was longing to get back to his _Life of
Locke_.
'Why, Sir Nugent Uffington and Lady Forestfield, of course,' said Mrs.
Chadwick. 'You must have seen--but I declare you have no eyes. It has
been perfectly plain to me for months past that he has been deeply
smitten with her, else why should he have taken all this trouble of
getting her back into her former position, arranging her affairs, and
all that; besides, I have seen them together, and I am a pretty good
judge of such matters. Now, when she is once a widow there will be no
bar to their union, and you may depend upon it that that will be a
match within a very few months.'
'It would seem to me to be a sensible proceeding,' said Mr. Chadwick;
'they are both well suited to each other, and if he is as devoted as
you say, he might make up to her for the hard lines which she has
suffered with her first husband, poor creature.'
'I wonder,' said Mrs. Chadwick, speaking to herself rather than to her
companion--'I wonder what she will be called: whether she will
continue Lady Forestfield, or become Lady Uffington. They are both
"Ladies," of course; but I don't think if I had been a viscountess I
should like descending to be a mere baronet's wife. I don't know how
that is, and I shall have to wait till we get to town before I can
learn, for there is no one here to tell me. I could not ask Lady
Forestfield under the circumstances, and Eleanor is dreadfully
ignorant on such subjects. By the way, I wonder where Eleanor is?'
It was lucky that Mrs. Chadwick did not know; for certainly Eleanor
had no desire to be interrupted by her sister at that moment. After
she had received the news from Lady Forestfield, and broken it to Mrs.
Chadwick, Eleanor, on May's assurance that she could render her no
assistance, had returned to the boudoir, and was standing in a pensive
attitude at the oriel window, musing over what had occurred, when
Uffington, who had finished his luncheon, entered the room. He stole
quietly up behind her and called her by her name.
Eleanor started. 'I had no notion you were here, Sir Nugent,' she said
with a blush.
'Fortune has so far favoured me as to find you alone, Miss Irvine,'
said Uffington, 'for I have something very special to say to you; and
under the present aspect of affairs it seems doubtful whether I may
have another chance. I am a man of few words, but little speech is
necessary to declare my intentions, and I am willing to accept your
decision in a single syllable. Since I first saw you I have been
irresistibly attracted towards you, and have remarked in you qualities
such as I have never noticed in another woman. In short, I have
learned to love you very dearly, and though my life has been neither
an uneventful nor an unclouded one, I think I may say there has been
nothing in it which should prevent me from placing the rest of it at
your disposal if you will honour me by becoming my wife.'
Why stop to record the trembling words of happiness in which Eleanor
accepted this proposal, so oddly and so bluntly made? Nugent Uffington
had been the ideal man of her life, and she now saw him at her feet,
conscious too that love such as his was not transient, but of that
enduring quality which lasts for life.