|UPON the morning after the interview between Rose and Lady Lisgard, the
latter again sent down Mistress Forest for the post-bag, and was once
more disappointed at receiving no news from Arthur Haldane; not only did
the interval of twenty-four hours make this matter additionally serious,
and increase her former apprehensions that he had not received her
telegram, and might find some means of forwarding Derrick's letter to
himself--since it had certainly not come back to the _Lisgard Arms_; but
there was a still graver cause for anxiety in the fact that Mary Forest
also received no reply from Ralph to that rejection so decidedly yet
courteously composed by her mistress, with the view of taking away all
hope, and at the same time of leaving as little sting of anger as was
possible. Lady Lisgard would have almost preferred to have received
from this man a declaration of open warfare--an expressed resolution of
carrying away Mary as his wife, in spite of all obstacles--rather than
this menacing No Answer. Contemptuous silence was not at all the natural
line for one of his violent character to take, if he had decided to
treat her waiting-woman's letter as final. He was more likely in that
case to have penned a tornado of invective, and bidden both mistress and
maid to have gone to the devil. It seemed only too probable, then, that
he was determined--as he had threatened--to take no denial; and that he
would return in person, sooner or later, to Mirk, to prosecute his suit.
My Lady made certain preparations for that extremity--nay, for the worst
that could possibly arise--chief among which was the-composition of a
very long and carefully-conned epistle to her eldest son, that she put
by in her desk undated and unsealed, so that additions could be made to
it at pleasure. Then she waited in agonies of suspense day after day;
and yet no letter came for her maid from Ralph, or for herself from
Arthur Haldane. Moreover, although, in her absorbing anxiety about the
more serious subject, this affected my Lady far less than it did
Rose, no communication came from Walter in answer to her long and
justificatory letter, acquainting him with the disclosure of their
marriage. Our readers are aware that this last circumstance was simply
due to the fact, that it was reposing in the “address-box” of the _Turf
Hotel_, until such time as it caught the eye of the overworked waiter,
and was carried over with apologies to Walter's lodgings, whither he
had given orders that anything addressed to him should be conveyed
forthwith. But he had not particularly expected a letter from that
quarter--or, at all events, felt very anxious to get it--for nobody but
Rose would have written to him to the _Turf Hotel_, all others at Mirk
and elsewhere believing him to be at Canterbury with his regiment,
whence all communications were forwarded to him to his London lodgings.
Thus, from the very deceit to which she had lent herself--to her
peculiar information as to his movements--was this failure of Rose's
letter to reach her husband owing. During this protracted interval, she
suffered agonies of suspense, of mortification, and even of fear. It was
wormwood to have to say to her mother-in-law every morning: “He has
not written yet,” and thereby to confess that Walter treated with
indifference the embarrassing position in which she was now placed at
Mirk Abbey; moreover, she surmised that her husband was too much enraged
with her disobedience in betraying their secret, to write at all.
His wife knew--although few others did--that Master Walter was capable
of being “put out” to a very considerable! extent. His very marriage
with herself--although she fortunately did not know _that_--had been
mainly owing to his impatience of opposition, and pique against his
elder brother. Doubtless propinquity and opportunities of flirtation
with a beautiful and accomplished girl, not by any means lavish of her
smiles, but whose devotion to himself had been almost that of a slave
for her master, had carried the handsome captain towards the gulf of
matrimony; but it was the desire to thwart Sir Richard--who, his jealous
eye perceived, was falling seriously in love with Rose long before _she_
saw it--which was the final cause of his rash act. He eagerly snatched
at an occasion at once of self-gratification, and of humiliating his
proud and arrogant brother. He was delighted to let him know that
neither his wealth nor his title could weigh in the balance of a woman's
favour against the gifts and graces which it was his habit to depreciate
or ignore. We have said that he discovered Sir Richard's passion even
before the object of it; but Rose's subtle brain was already preoccupied
with himself. To give that scheming beauty her due, I think that even
had she not been already Walter's wife, she would not have exchanged him
for the baronet, at the period when he made her that dazzling offer in
the Library. She felt that she had let slip a splendid prize, and was
proportionally angry with Sir Richard, whose backwardness and hauteur
had prevented her from recognising the possibility of its falling to
her lot; but the feeling of disappointment was but transient; she was
a bride of only a few weeks, and to get disenchanted of one like Walter
Lisgard is a long process even for a wife. By this time, however, though
she idolised him, still Rose had learned to fear him; and absolutely
dared not pen another letter to inquire the reason of his silence.
Of those who waited, sick at heart, for the coming of the postman every
morning, Lady Lisgard, therefore, was the first to lose patience. She
wrote to Arthur Haldane a few urgent lines, requesting his immediate
presence at Mirk “upon private and particular business and within an
hour of their receipt he took the train, and appeared in person at the
Abbey. My Lady had decided to consult him, in preference to his
father, respecting the arrangements necessary to be made for the future
maintenance of Walter and his wife, since it would be very unwise to
make so much importance of the matter concerning Derrick, about which
she was in reality vastly more concerned, and burned to know the truth.
“What is the matter, _ma mère!_” inquired he tenderly, when, not without
the exercise of some address--for Sir Richard was always hospitable, and
(especially in the absence of his brother) both gracious and attentive
to all guests--Arthur and my Lady had managed to get an hour to
themselves in the boudoir. “You look very pale and anxious.”
“Yes, Arthur, I have enough to make me so. Walter has secretly made Rose
Aynton his wife. Ah! you pity me, I see, and perhaps him also. Do not
condole with me, however. I have sent for you hither to help me to make
the best-----Alas, alas, you would not have believed it of my Walter,
would you?” And my Lady, touched by the sympathising look and manner of
the honest young fellow, burst into the first “good cry” which she had
permitted to herself since the calamity had been discovered; for when
confiding the circumstance to Letty, it had been her duty to bear up,
and when alone, a still more serious anxiety consumed her. Even now, her
emotion, though violent, was soon over, and the indulgence in it seemed
to have done her good. “Pardon me, Arthur,” said she, with one of her
old smiles; “I won't be foolish any more.”
And then, after narrating matters with which we are acquainted, she laid
before him, as concisely as she could, what funds at her own disposal
could be made available to form an income for the young couple, in
addition to the interest which Walter's fortune of five thousand pounds
or so, into the possession of which he would come in some eighteen
months, would yield. She little knew that on that very night--for it was
the eve of the Derby Day--the unworthy boy, for whom she was making
such sacrifices, was about to risk and lose more than a third of his
patrimony, and that upon the next day the remainder was doomed to go,
and much more with it.
“But this will pinch you, _ma mere_,” reasoned Arthur kindly, “and
narrow your own already somewhat scanty revenue sadly. Sir Richard will
come into a very fine rent-roll in June, beside thousands----”
“But can we ask him to help Walter and _his wife?_ And could Walter take
it, even if his brother were generous enough to offer it?”
“Sir Richard is quite capable of such magnanimity, _ma mere_, unless
I am much mistaken in his character. He would not like to see his
brother--even were he but a Lisgard, let alone his so near kith and
kin--in a position that would be discreditable to the family; while if
one has really loved a woman, one surely does not wish to see her poor
and struggling, simply because she has preferred some one else. As for
Walter's accepting the help which his brother can so well spare--it may
be a little bitter--but, in my opinion, that would be far preferable to
receiving what would impoverish his mother. The arrangements you propose
would leave you but three hundred pounds a year.”
“Yes,” answered my Lady hastily, “I require that for a purpose, else
half the sum would easily suffice my present needs.”
“It would do nothing of the sort, _ma mère_. Come, let us be reasonable.
If you will leave this matter in my hands, I will endeavour to be the
mediator between your sons. Sir Richard has an honest regard for me, I
think, and Walter also, when he is himself.”
“Poor Walter!” murmured my Lady sighing.
“Yes, he is to be pitied,” answered the other drily; “but also, between
ourselves--although I shall endeavour, after my lawyer instincts, to
make it appear otherwise to his brother--to be somewhat blamed, _ma
mère_. Since, then, I am prepared, under the cloak of arbitrator, to be
the partisan of your darling----Yes, they are both your darlings, Lady
Lisgard, I know, but with a difference.”
“Walter is in trouble,” urged my Lady pitifully.
“Yes, that is the reason, of course. However, will you put the case
unreservedly in my own hands? for if so, although it is not an easy
task, I will do my best to make your sons shake hands.”
“There is none like you, Arthur, none. Heaven bless you and reward you!”
“There may be none like me, _ma mere_, but there are also, I hope, many
people a great deal better. And now that we have done with this matter
for the present, may I ask, Why letters are directed to another person,
under care to me, which I am at the same time directed by telegram to
put behind the fire?”
“Oh, you got that telegram, did you?” said my Lady quietly. “Mary Forest
entreated me so to send it. The fact was, she accepted that person by
letter---what was his name?--of whom we spoke together some time ago at
the Watersmeet; but afterwards, persuaded by me (acting in accordance
with your suggestion, you remember), she decided to refuse him. But the
first letter was unfortunately posted before the second was written; and
the postmistress at Dalwynch positively refused to give it up, although
I drove over there myself to request it.”
“Well, upon my life, _ma mère_, but you're a bold woman,” exclaimed the
young lawyer laughing. “Why, of course, she wouldn't give it up. She
would be stealing the property of the Postmaster-general if she had done
so, and you would be the receiver with the guiltiest knowledge.”
“Well, at all events, she did not,” pursued my Lady simply. “She would
do nothing beyond directing the envelope afresh to your address.”
“Honest creature!” interrupted Arthur grimly.
“Under these circumstances, I telegraphed to you, knowing that you would
be good enough to destroy the letter directly it reached you.”
“Yes, _ma mere_, and I did so,” returned Arthur gravely; “but I feared
it was not right, and now that you have told me this, I know that it was
wrong. You may have had your reasons, dear Lady Lisgard, and doubtless
very urgent ones, to wish the destruction of those letters.”
“Those letters!” exclaimed my Lady.
“Yes, I am certain, of course, that you intended no harm to any one, and
that what you did was in ignorance of the law; but so suspicious was I
of your having transgressed it--and at the same time, perhaps, a
little annoyed that you should have chosen _me_, Lady Lisgard, for your
instrument in such a matter--that I purposely omitted to communicate
with you, to put in writing any evidence whatsoever of that
transaction.”
“Yes, yes,” said my Lady hastily, and taking no notice of the young
man's evident annoyance. “But you speak of _letters_. There was only
_one_ letter directed to Pump Court.”
“There were two, Lady Lisgard, and both addressed in the same
handwriting. The words, _Turf Hotel, Piccadilly_, were crossed out also,
in each case, I remember, in red ink. It was the postmistress who did
it, I have no doubt. If you led her to imagine that that was the wrong
address in the one instance, she naturally imagined it to be so in the
other, and probably made the alteration in all good faith.”
“Great Heaven, and so it must have been!” exclaimed my Lady, clasping
her hands. “O Arthur, this mischance--if my misconduct does indeed
deserve punishment, has brought, I fear, a very harsh and bitter
one--that is on Mary. The second letter should have reached the
person to whom it was addressed without fail. He will now have heard
nothing--this Derrick; and he will take the woman's silence for consent.
O Arthur, Arthur, you little know what bad news this is.”
“I can see, _ma mère_, that it vexes you,” answered the young man
kindly; “and that is evil enough for me to know. Some sorrows are
best kept to one's self, I think. Now, look you, this Mr Derrick will
certainly, being a sporting-man, be in town to-morrow night. He will not
have left his hotel before the Derby is over. Now, I will go and seek
him out to-morrow with the letter in my hand that Mary shall re-write.
We have only but a very little time, remember.”
“Dear Arthur, counsellor, and friend, and son in one, what comfort do
you not give me in all straits!” She rose and offered him her pale
but comely cheek, which the young man touched with reverent lips; then
holding her hand in his, he said in a firm voice: “And now, _ma mère_,
even that is not fee enough for such an avaricious lawyer as I am. I
have promised myself a talk with Letty.”
“Do so, and Heaven bless you, my dear boy--ay, bless you both,”
continued my Lady, when he had left the room, “for you would take her
for your wife even though you knew what I know of her unhappy birth. I
have almost a mind to tell him; but then, with his stern notions of what
is right--although, Heaven knows, I wrong no one by this reticence--he
might---- 'Some sorrows are best kept to one's self, I think,' said
he. And whether he suspects something amiss, and meant the words for my
particular ear or not, it is sound advice. Sufficient for the day is the
evil thereof. If I were always to be thinking of the morrow, I should
soon go mad.”