A NAME.
'Sigh no more lady, lady sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever,
One foot on sea and one on land--
To one thing constant never.'--Old Ballad.
'So you have ventured out again,' said Lady Kirkaldy, as her nephew
strolled up to her afternoon tea-table under a great cedar tree:
'The coast being clear, and only distant shouts being heard in the
ravine--
'"Like an army defeated
The choir retreated;
And now doth fare well
In the valley's soft swell,"'
said the aunt.
'At least you have survived; or is this the reaction,' said the nephew,
putting on a languid air.
'There were some very nice people among them, on whom the pictures were
by no means thrown away. What would you say, Mark, if I told you that
I strongly suspect that I have seen your lost aunt?'
'Nonsense!' cried Mark, as emphatically as disrespectfully.
'I am not joking in the least,' said Lady Kirkaldy, looking up at him.
'I heard the name of Egremont, and made out that it belonged to a very
lady-like pretty-looking woman in gray and white; she seemed to be
trying to check and tame a bright girl of eighteen or so, who was in a
perfect state of rapture over the Vandykes. I managed to ask the
clergyman who the lady was, and he told me she was a Mrs. Egremont, who
lives with her aunt, a Miss Headworth, who boards girls for the High
School; very worthy people, he added.'
'Headworth?'
'Yes.'
'But if it were, she would have known your name.'
'Hardly. The title had not come in those days; and if she heard of us
at all it would be as Kerrs. I ventured further to put out a feeler by
asking whether he knew what her husband had been, and he said he
believed he had been lost at sea, but he, Mr. Spyers I mean, had only
been at Micklethwayte three or four years, and had merely known her as
a widow.'
'I suppose it is worth following up,' said Mark, rather reluctantly. 'I
wish I had seen her. I think I should know Miss Headworth again, and
she would hardly know me.'
'You see what comes of absconding.'
'After all, it was best,' said Mark. 'Supposing her to be the real
woman, which I don't expect, it might have been awkward if she had
heard my name! How can we ascertain the history of this person without
committing ourselves?'
Lord Kirkaldy, an able man, who had been for many years a diplomatist,
here joined the party, and the whole story was laid before him. He was
new to Micklethwayte, having succeeded a somewhat distant kinsman, and
did not know enough of the place to be able to fix on any one to whom
to apply for information; but the result of the consultation was that
Lady Kirkaldy should go alone to call on Miss Headworth, and explain
that she was come to inquire about a young lady of the same name, who
had once been governess to the children of her sister, Lady Adelaide
Egremont. Mark was rather a study to his uncle and aunt all the
evening. He was as upright and honourable as the day, and not only
acted on high principle, but had a tender feeling to the beautiful
playfellow governess, no doubt enhanced by painful experiences of
successors chosen for their utter dissimilarity to her. Still it was
evidently rather flat to find himself probably so near the tangible
goal of his romantic search; and the existence of a first cousin had
been startling to him, though his distaste was more to the taking her
from second-rate folk in a country town than to the overthrow of his
own heirship. At least so he manifestly and honestly believed, and
knowing it to be one of those faiths that make themselves facts, the
Kirkaldys did not disturb him in it, nor commiserate him for a loss
which they thought the best thing possible for him.
Miss Headworth was accustomed to receive visitors anent boarders, so
when Lady Kirkaldy's card was brought to her, the first impression was
that some such arrangement was to be made. She was sitting in her
pretty little drawing-room alone, for Nuttie and her mother had gone
out for a walk with Miss Nugent.
The room, opening on the garden, and cool with blinds, had a certain
homely grace about the faded furniture. The drawings on the walls were
good, the work quaint and tasteful. There was a grand vase of
foxgloves before the empty grate, and some Marshal Nial roses in a
glass on the table. The old lady herself--with alert black eyes and a
sweet expression--rose from her chair in the window to receive her
guest.
Lady Kirkaldy felt reassured as to the refinement of the surroundings,
and liked the gentle but self-possessed tones of the old lady. She
noticed the foxgloves.
'Yes,' said Miss Headworth, 'they are the fruits of yesterday's
expedition. My two children, as I call them, brought them home in
triumph. I cannot tell you what pleasure Lord Kirkaldy's kindness gave
them--and many more.'
'I am glad,' said the lady, while she said to herself, 'now for it,'
and sat forward. 'It struck me,' she said, 'on hearing your name that
you might be related to--to a young lady who lived a good while ago in
the family of my sister, Lady Adelaide Egremont.'
A strange look came into Miss Headworth's eyes, her lips trembled, she
clutched tightly the arm of her chair, but then cast a puzzled glance
at her visitor.
'Perhaps if you heard of me then,' said the latter, 'it was as Lady
Margaret Kerr.'
'Yes,' said Miss Headworth, then pausing, she collected herself and
said in an anxious voice, 'Do I understand that your ladyship is come
to inquire for my niece, being aware of the circumstances.'
'I only became aware of them yesterday,' said Lady Kirkaldy. 'I was in
Turkey at the time, and no particulars were given to me; but my nephew,
Mark Egremont, your niece's old pupil, came to consult us, having just
discovered among his uncle's papers evidence of the marriage, of which
of course he had been ignorant.'
'Then,' exclaimed Miss Headworth, holding her hands tightly clasped,
'Shall I really see justice done at last to my poor child?'
'It is young Mark's most earnest wish and his father--'Lady Kirkaldy
hesitated for a word, and Miss Headworth put in:
'His father! Why would he never even acknowledge either Alice's
letters or mine? We wrote several times both to him and Lady Adelaide,
and never received any reply, except one short one, desiring he might
not be troubled on such a subject. It was cruel! Alice said it was not
in his writing. She had done very wrong, and the family might well be
offended, but a poor child like her, just eighteen, might have been
treated with some pity.'
'My sister was in declining health. He was very much engrossed. He
left the matter to--to others,' said Lady Kirkaldy. 'He is very sorry
now that he acquiesced in what was then thought right. He did not then
know that there had been a marriage.'
'I should have thought in that case a clergyman would have been bound
to show the more compassion.'
Lady Kirkaldy knew that the cruel silence had been chiefly the work of
the stem Puritan pitilessness of her mother, so she passed this over,
saying, 'We are all very anxious to atone, as far as possible, for what
is past, but we know little or nothing, only what my nephew Mark has
been able to gather.'
'Little Mark! Alice always talked of him with great affection. How
pleased she will be to hear of his remembering her.'
'Would you object to telling me what you know of this history?' said
Lady Kirkaldy. 'I am afraid it is very painful to you, but I think we
should understand it clearly. Please speak to me as a friend, as woman
to woman.'
'Your ladyship is very kind,' said the poor old lady. 'I have only
mentioned the subject once since we came to settle here, seventeen
years ago, but such things one cannot forget. If you will excuse me, I
have some dates that will assist my accuracy.'
She hurried away, and came back in a few moments, having evidently
dried some tears, perhaps of thankfulness, but she paused as if
reluctant to begin.
'I think your niece had no nearer relation than yourself,' said Lady
Kirkaldy, anxious to set her off and at ease.
'Oh no, or she never would have been so treated. She was an orphan. My
poor brother was a curate. He married--as young men will--on
insufficient means, his strength gave way, and he died of diphtheria
when this poor child was only two years old. Indeed, two little ones
died at the same time, and the mother married again and went to
Shanghai. She did not long live there, poor thing, and little Alice
was sent home to me. I thought I did my best for her by keeping her at
a good school. I have often wished that I had given up my situation,
and become an assistant there, so as to have her more under my own
eyes; but I fancied it important to receive a salary out of which I
could save. I am wearying your ladyship, but I can't but dwell on the
excuses for my poor child.'
'Indeed I wish to hear all the details,' was the sincere and gentle
answer.
'I had her with me generally in the holidays, and I confess I was
absolutely alarmed to see how pretty the child was growing, knowing how
great a disadvantage it often is. She was always a good girl, not
naturally so studious as could be wished, but docile, merry, gentle, a
favourite with every one, and peculiarly innocent and childish. I
wished her to remain a few years longer as teacher, but it so happened
that Lady Adelaide Egremont, coming to consult the head of the
establishment about a nursery-governess, saw Alice, and was so much
struck with her sweet face, which was all sunshine then, as to insist
on engaging her.'
'Ah! my dear sister, I remember her enthusiastic letter about her
pretty governess, and her boy's affection for her, an affection that
has lasted--'
'It seemed so safe. A clergyman's family in the country, and so kind a
lady at the head, that, though Alice had been educated for a superior
governess, it appeared the best beginning she could have. And she was
very happy, and met with great kindness. Only, unfortunately, Lady
Adelaide was delicate, and for many weeks entirely confined to the
sofa. Mr. Egremont's elder brother was much there. He seemed to my
poor inexperienced child quite elderly, and his attentions like those
of--of an old uncle--she told me afterwards--'
'He must really have been over forty--'
'No doubt my poor Alice was unguarded. We know what a merry, happy,
childish girl may be, but I never heard that her conduct was even
censured while she remained at Baxley, though I find that Captain
Egremont used to join them in their walks, under pretext of playing
with the children. Then she was sent to Freshwater with the two eldest
children during Lady Adelaide's confinement, and there, most
unjustifiably, Captain Egremont continually visited them from his
yacht, and offered to take them out in it. Alice knew she ought not to
go without a married lady on board, and he brought a Mr. and Mrs.
Houghton to call, who were very kind and caressing to her and the
children, so that she thought all was right. Oh! Lady Kirkaldy, I
don't mean to defend her, I daresay she was very giddy and silly, she
reproaches herself, poor dear, but I do say that a wicked advantage was
taken of her innocence and ignorance. She says that she had begun to
grow a little uneasy at the way people looked when Captain Egremont
joined them on the beach; and the nurse, a German, said something that
she could not understand. On the 1st of July--yes--but I have the date
here--came a telegram to the hotel to have rooms for Lady de Lyonnais
and Mr. Egremont ready by the evening. The whole place knew it, and
some meddling person burst on Alice with the news, roughly and coarsely
given, that they were coming to call her to account for her goings on.
Captain Egremont found her crying in the utmost terror, and--she really
hardly knew what he said to her--she thinks he offered to shelter her
on board the Ninon, from Lady de Lyonnais' first wrath while he and
Mrs. Houghton explained matters; but she cannot tell, for she lost her
senses with fright, only knew that he was kind and sweet to her in her
distress, and thought only of escaping. Well, I don't excuse her. Of
course it was the most terrible and fatal thing she could have done,
and--' The good old lady was quite overcome, and Lady Kirkaldy had
tears in her eyes as she said,
'It was frightful folly--but she was guarded.'
'Yes, her innocence was guarded, thank God,' said Miss Headworth
fervently. 'You see she did know that Mr. and Mrs. Houghton were on
board, and Mrs. Houghton was a truly kind protector who deserved her
confidence, though, poor lady, she admitted to me that her own conduct
had not been-strictly correct.'
'How long was it before you heard of her?'
'There was a dreadful letter from Mr. Egremont enclosing what was due
of her salary, and then I heard no more for seven months. I went to
the Isle of Wight and made all inquiries, but the nurse and children
had gone away immediately, and I could obtain no trace of them.'
'Then she--your niece, never wrote.'
'She was afraid, poor dear. She had never been at her ease with me.
Her mother had taught her to think me strict and harsh, and she had
never opened to me in those days. Besides, he had forbidden her. At
last, however, in January, came a letter from this Mrs. Houghton,
telling me that my Alice was very unwell at Dieppe, that nothing had
been heard of her husband, Captain Egremont, to whom she had been
married on the 20th of July at St. Philippe, in Jersey, and that she
herself was obliged to leave the place almost immediately; but she
would, if possible, wait till my arrival, as Mrs. Egremont was not in a
condition to be left alone. My dear friends, with whom I was then
living, were as kind as possible, and set me free to go. I was there
in three days, and truly the dear, beautiful, merry girl I had parted
with only a year before was a sad piteous sight. Mrs. Houghton seemed
broken-hearted at leaving her, thinking there was little chance of her
living; but Mr. Houghton, who, I am afraid, was a professed gambler,
had got into some scrape, and was gone to Paris, where she had to
follow him. She told me all about it, and how, when Captain Egremont
fancied that a marriage in the Channel Islands was one he could play
fast and loose with, she had taken care that the formalities should be
such as to make all secure. Foolish and wrong as poor Alice had been,
she had awakened all the best side of that poor woman's nature, and no
mother could have been more careful and tender. She gave me the
certificate--here it is--and assured me that it would hold good. I
have shown it to a lawyer, and he said the same; but when I sent a copy
to Mr. Egremont, my letter was returned unopened.'
'Captain Egremont had denied the marriage, and they believed him,' said
Lady Kirkaldy. 'It is hard to believe that he could be so heartless,
but he was in bondage to the old General Egremont, and dreaded losing
his inheritance.'
'So he told them in his one visit to Dieppe. He said he must keep his
marriage secret, but promised an allowance, on condition that Alice
would live quietly at Dieppe, and not communicate with any one of her
own family or his. He had left £100 with her, but that was nearly
gone, and she had never heard from him. It had preyed on her, and she
was so ill that I never expected, any more than Mrs. Houghton, to see
her recover. I stayed there with her; she could not be moved, even if
she would have consented, when she was continually expecting him; but
at last--four days after her little girl was born--came the news of the
Ninon having been burnt, with all on board, three months before. Do
you know, strange to say, though I had feared so much to tell her, she
began to revive from that time. The suspense and watching were over.
She saw that he had not deserted her, and believed that he had loved
her to the last. She cried a great deal, but it was in a peaceful,
natural way. I wrote then, as I had already written, to Lady Adelaide
and to Mr. Egremont, but was not answered.'
'I can account for that,' said Lady Kirkaldy. 'My sister had been
ordered to Madeira in the autumn, and there they remained till her
death in May. All the letters were sent to my mother, and she did not
think fit to forward, or open, any bearing on the subject. In the
meantime Mr. Egremont was presented to the family living, and on his
return moved to Bridgefield Egremont. And you came here?'
'Of course I could not part with my poor Alice again. Mr. and Mrs.
Fordyce, whose daughter I had long ago educated, had always kept up a
correspondence with me, and, knowing all the story, proposed to me to
come here. He was then rector of the old church, and by their help and
recommendation, with such capital as I had, we were able to begin a
little school; and though that has had to give way to the High School,
what with boarders, and with Alice's employment as daily governess, we
have, I am thankful to say, gone on very well and comfortably, and my
dear child has recovered her cheerfulness, though she can never be
quite what--I think she was meant to be,' said the old lady, with a sad
smile, 'though perhaps she is something better.'
'Do you think she was absolutely convinced of his death?'
'Do you mean that he is alive?' exclaimed Miss Headworth in dismay.
'Oh! he is a wickeder man than even I supposed, to have forsaken her
all these years. Is my poor child in his power? Must her peace, now
she has attained it, be disturbed?'
'There is a great deal to take into consideration,' said Lady Kirkaldy.
'I had better tell you how this visit of mine came about, and explain
some matters about the Egremont family.'
She then told how Captain Egremont, after a brief service in the Life
Guards, had been made to retire, that the old General, whose heir he
was, might keep him in attendance on him. Already self-indulgent and
extravagant, the idleness of the life he led with the worn-out old roue
had deadened his better feelings, and habituated him to dissipation,
while his debts, his expensive habits, and his dread of losing the
inheritance, had bound him over to the General. Both had been saved
from the fire in the Ninon, whence they were picked up by a Chilian
vessel, and they had been long in communicating with home. The General
hated England, and was in broken health. He had spent the remaining
years of his life at various continental resorts, where he could enjoy
a warm climate, combined with facilities for high play.
When at length, he died, Captain Egremont had continued the life to
which he had become accustomed, and had of late manifested an
expectation that his nephew Mark should play the same part by him as he
had done by the General, but the youth, bred in a very different tone,
would on no account thus surrender himself to an evil bondage. Indeed
he felt all the severity of youthful virtue, and had little toleration
for his uncle's ways of thinking; though, when the old man had come
home ill, dejected, and half blind, he had allowed himself to be made
useful on business matters. And thus he had discovered the marriage,
and had taken up the cause with the ardour stimulated by a chivalrous
feeling for the beautiful vision of his childhood, whose sudden
disappearance had ended his brightest days.
'I suppose it is right and generous of the young man,' said Miss
Headworth. 'But since the--the man is alive, I wish my poor Alice
could have been left at peace!'
'You forget that her daughter has rights which must be taken into
consideration.'
'Little Nuttie! Dear child! I should so far like her to be provided
for, so far as that she need not go out in the world to earn her own
livelihood. But no! better be as we are than accept anything from that
man!'
'I quite understand and respect your feeling, Miss Headworth,' returned
the lady; 'but may I return to my question whether you think your niece
has any doubt of her husband being dead.'
Miss Headworth considered. 'Since you ask me, I think she has kept the
possibility of the life before her. We have never mentioned the
subject, and, as I said, the belief in his death ended a great suspense
and sense of wounded affection. She began soon and vigorously to turn
her attention to the support of her child, and has found a fair measure
of happiness; but at the same time she has shrunk from all notice and
society, more than would be natural in so very young a widow and so
attractive, more than I should have expected from her original
character. And once, when she did apprehend symptoms of admiration,
she insisted that I should tell the history, enough, as she said, to
make it plain that it was impossible. There was one night too, when
she had scarlatina, and was a little lightheaded, only four years ago,
when she talked a good deal about his coming back; but that might have
been only the old impression on her brain, of that long watching at
Dieppe. He--Captain Egremont, does not yet know where she is?'
'No, certainly not. But I fear he must.'
'I suppose he ought,' sighed Miss Headworth; 'but in the meantime, till
we know what line he takes, surely she need not be unsettled by the
knowledge of his existence.'
'By no means. You had better act as you think best about that. But
you will not object to my nephew, her old pupil, Mark, coming to see
her? I will make him promise not to enter upon the subject.'
Miss Headworth had only time to make a sign of reluctant acquiescence
when the door opened and mother and daughter came in. Nuttie first,
eager as usual and open-mouthed, unaware that any one was there, for
Lady Kirkaldy, wishing to avoid talk and observation, had left her
carriage at the livery stables, and walked to St. Ambrose Road. The
girl, whom in a moment she classed as small, dark, and oddly like May
Egremont, stopped short at sight of a stranger; the mother would have
retreated but for Miss Headworth's nervous call 'Alice, my dear, here
is Lady Kirkaldy.'
Very lovely was Lady Kirkaldy's impression as she saw a slender figure
in a dark gray linen dress, and a face of refined, though not
intellectual, beauty and sweetness, under a large straw hat with a good
deal of white gauziness about it, and the curtsey was full of natural
grace.
'You do not know me,' said Lady Kirkaldy, taking her hand, 'but I am
aunt to some former pupils of yours, one of whom, Mark Egremont, is
very anxious to come and see you.'
'Mark! My dear little Mark,' and her face lighted up. 'How very kind
of him. But he is not little Mark now.'
'He is not a very big Mark either. Most of the Egremonts are small. I
see your daughter takes after them,' said Lady Kirkaldy, shaking hands
with Ursula, who looked at her in unmitigated amazement.
Alice faltered something about Lady Adelaide.
'My dear sister fell into a decline, and died while the three children
were still babies. Poor things, I believe they had a sad time till
their father married a Miss Condamine, who has been an excellent
stepmother to them. I have been to see them, but Mark was not then at
home, so he has come to me at Monks Horton. When will he find you at
home? Or may I bring him in at once. He was to meet me at
Micklethwayte.'
'I should like very much to see him,' was the answer. And Miss
Headworth was obliged to say something about her ladyship taking a cup
of tea. Lady Kirkaldy, knowing that Mark was on the watch, set off in
search of him, and found him, as she expected, pacing the pavement in
front of the church. There was no great distance in which to utter her
explanations and cautions, warning him of her promise that the
intelligence of the husband's being alive was to be withheld for a
fitter time, but he promised dutifully, and his aunt then took him in
with her.
The recognition of her claims was a less stunning shock to Alice
Egremont than to her aunt. Shielded by her illness, as well as by her
simplicity and ignorance, she had never been aware of her aunt's
attempted correspondence with the Egremonts, nor of their deafness to
appeals made on her behalf. Far less had it ever occurred to her that
the validity of her marriage could be denied, and the heinous error of
her elopement seemed to her quite sufficient to account for her having
been so entirely cast off by the family. The idea that as wife or
widow she had any claims on them, or that Ursula might have rights
above those of Mark, had not come into her mind, which, indeed, at the
moment was chiefly occupied by the doubt whether the milk was come in,
and by ordering in the best teacups, presented by the boarders.
Thus she was in the passage when Mark entered, and his exclamation
instantly was 'Oh, Edda, dear old Edda! You aren't a bit altered!' and
he put his head under her hat and kissed her, adding, as she seemed
rather startled, 'You are my aunt, you know; and where's my cousin?
You are Ursula?'
He advanced upon Nuttie, took her by the hand and kissed her forehead
before she was aware, but she flashed at him with her black eyes, and
looked stiff and defiant. She had no notion of kisses to herself,
still less to her pretty mother whom she protected with a half proud,
half jealous fondness. How could the man presume to call her by that
foolish name? However, that single effusion had exhausted Mark's
powers of cordiality, or else Nuttie's stiffness froze him. They were
all embarrassed, and had reason to be grateful to Lady Kirkaldy's
practised powers as a diplomate's wife. She made the most of Mrs.
Egremont's shy spasmodic inquiries, and Mark's jerks of information,
such as that they were all living at Bridgefield Egremont, now, that
his sister May was very like his new cousin, that Blanche was come out
and was very like his mother, etc. etc. Every one was more at ease
when Lady Kirkaldy carried the conversation off to yesterday's
entertainment, hoping no one had been overtired, and the like. Mrs.
Egremont lighted up a little and began telling some of the expressions
of delight she had heard, and in the midst, Nuttie, waking from her
trance of stiff displeasure, came plump in with 'Oh! and there's a
water-soldier, a real Stratiotes aculeatus in your lake. May we get
it? Mr. Dutton didn't think we ought, but it would be such a prize!'
'Ursula means a rare water-plant,' said Mrs. Egremont gently, seeing
that Lady Kirkaldy had no notion of the treasure she possessed. 'She
and some of her friends are very eager botanists.'
'I am sure you may,' said the lady, amused.
'Thank you! Then, O mother! Miss Mary and I will go. And we'll wait
till after office hours, and then Gerard Godfrey can come and fish it
out for us! Oh, thank you. He wants the pattern of the Abbot's cross
for an illumination, and he can get some ferns for the church.'
Soon after this ebullition, Lady Kirkaldy carried off her nephew, and
his first utterance outside the door was 'A woman like that will be the
salvation of my uncle.'
'Firstly, if you can bring them together,' said his aunt; 'and
secondly, if there is stuff enough in that pretty creature.'