"A MARRIAGE IS ARRANGED."
This was what Mrs Burton had to tell. On the evening her niece had
left Coombesthorpe she had been startled by a telegram from Madelene,
inquiring if Ella were with her, to which of course she was obliged to
reply in the negative.
"I was not so _very_ frightened as I would have been had I not that very
morning got your letter asking me to invite you for a visit.
Fortunately Mr Burton was out when the telegram came," she went on, "so
I did not need to tell him about it--it is just as well--I don't think
he need hear more than that you are coming on a visit--oh, but I am
running on without explaining," seeing Ella raise her eyebrows with a
look of surprise. "I must tell you that all the next day and the day
after, I kept thinking you would walk in, my dear, and when you did not
come and there was no letter I began to be really frightened. I was
just making up my mind to tell Mr Burton all about it and start for
Coombesthorpe when last night to my astonishment there came a message--"
"A telegram?" Ella interrupted.
"No, neither a telegram nor a letter. A message brought by a messenger
from your sister Madelene," said Mrs Burton, with a little confusion of
manner which did not escape Ella's sharp eyes, "as she could not come
herself--"
"And why could she not come herself? If she had really cared--"
interrupted Ella with a little choke in her voice.
"And your father so ill! You forget, Ella."
"Papa ill--he was much better?" Ella exclaimed with a little start.
"But he had a sort of attack the evening you left. Did you not know?
Oh, no of course, how could you. He had had a good deal to agitate him
that day, it appears, and at first they were very much alarmed, but it
was more nervousness than anything else, and he is better now, but he
won't hear of Madelene leaving him. She must have had rather a time of
it, I fancy--what with the fright about you and all. But I dare say it
will do her no harm to be shaken out of her apathy a little."
Ella's face had grown very grave. Poor Madelene! Had she been
frightened about her--Ella--then, and Ermine away?
"Was it about my--about me that papa was upset, do you think, aunt?" she
asked.
"Not only that. Si--the--I understood that Madelene made the best of it
to the Colonel," said Mrs Burton, "took the blame upon herself of some
misunderstanding. You will tell me all about it of course. The least
Madelene could do _was_ to blame herself, I should say! And now,
darling, that I have explained things, supposing you get ready? I have
seen Mrs Ward and settled everything with her."
"But I don't understand in the least," said Ella, "you haven't explained
anything, aunt Phillis. What did Madelene's messenger say to you? Had
she not seen Fraulein Braune? Do you not know that I am only waiting
here for their consent--a nominal form that Mrs Ward insists on--to my
going to Germany as--as a sort of governess?"
Mrs Burton gave a gasp. Yes--she knew it all, but she had been warned
to act with the greatest caution and tact and to avoid as much as
possible all irritating discussion. And just as she was flattering
herself that she had done so, and managed it all so beautifully, here
Ella faces round upon her, and nothing has been done or settled at all!
"My dearest child," she exclaimed, "you cannot seriously think such a
step would be allowed? Of course Madelene has seen Fraulein Braune and
had a long talk with her. But it _can't_ be--your father would not hear
of it. And think of the scandal!"
"I can't help that," said Ella quickly. "Of course people would talk of
it--the daughter of a very rich man like my father, going out as a
governess, would naturally make people talk. But I will not go back,
and so as I won't do what they wish I do not ask for any money--not even
the money that when I am of age would be legally mine. I am quite
willing to work for myself. I told Madelene, at least I wrote it, that
I would give up my share, but I would not stay at home."
"You wrote that to Madelene about giving up your share," repeated Mrs
Burton with a curious expression in her face, an expression which Ella
did not understand.
"Of course I did. What is money without affection?" said Ella, rearing
her little head superbly.
Mrs Burton hesitated. They were treading on delicate ground, ground on
which she herself had been specially warned to tread with the greatest
caution, and she grew nervous.
"My dearest child," she began after a moment's silence. "I have not
said that your father insists on your returning to Coombesthorpe, even
though he refuses his consent to your going to Germany. On the contrary
he does not want you to go back to them. He seems to think it better
not."
"And Madelene?" asked Ella sharply. "What does _she_ wish?"
"Personally, as far as I could make out, she was most anxious for you to
go back. She was suffering terribly, so--that may have been
exaggerated--at not being able to come herself to you, but she gave in
to your father's decision."
"And what was that?"
"That you should come back to me, darling. It was what you wished
yourself when you wrote last week," said Mrs Burton anxiously.
"Yes, but things have changed since then. I don't want any temporary
plan. I want to--to be independent for good. I want _never_ to return
there, to Coombesthorpe," said Ella, almost fiercely.
Mrs Burton groaned. What was she to do or say? She had undertaken the
mission cheerfully and hopefully, confident in Ella's affection for
herself and, judging naturally enough by the letter she had so recently
received, without any misgiving but that her niece would be ready and
glad to return to her care, once she was assured of a welcome.
"It will be all right, you will see," she had said to Miss St Quentin's
"messenger;" "she would have come straight to me, I know, but for her
fears that Mr Burton might not be willing to receive her. And that I
can satisfy her about."
But Ella's unexpected attitude set her quite at fault. She put her hand
in her pocket to draw out her handkerchief, for she really felt as if
she were going to cry, and with a sudden exclamation of relief she drew
it out again, with not her handkerchief but a letter. It was addressed
to Ella.
"I am forgetting this," said Mrs Burton, "perhaps it may have more
effect than my words."
The writing was Madelene's. A slight flush rose to Ella's pale face as
she saw it, and without speaking she opened the envelope.
"My dear Ella," the letter began,--
"I have been completely miserable about you. I would have set off at
once in search of you, had it been possible to leave papa. Thanks,
to" and here some word was erased, "inquiries I was able to make
without raising any gossip, I satisfied myself that you were in safe
hands, and Fraulein Braune has now kindly come to see me herself. We
_cannot_ consent to your going to Germany; all I can do at present is
to beg you to go to Mrs Burton's in the meantime. I cannot tell you
how unhappy I am that you should have overheard and somehow so
terribly misconstrued what I said to Philip in the drawing-room. I do
not altogether understand you even now, and I know you do not
understand me. I can only pray that some day it may be different.
Forgive the pain I have--oh, so unintentionally--caused you. If
Ermine were here I would beg her to write instead of me--she would
know better what to say, and I think you trust her. I shall know no
peace till I hear that you are safe with your aunt. I have been
almost overwhelmed these last few days and I scarcely know what I
write. Papa is better, and I have not allowed him to blame you. I
have made him see it has been my fault. Let me hear you are with Mrs
Burton.
"Your affectionate sister,--
"Madelene."
Ella kept her eyes fixed on the paper for some time after she had read
it; she did not want her aunt to see the tears, which rose unbidden and
which with a strong effort she repressed again. When she looked up it
was with a calm, almost impassive expression.
"I will go back with you, aunt Phillis," she said. "I do not wish to
make an _expose_ of our family affairs by attempting to defy my father.
I will go back with you in the meantime."
"My darling!" Mrs Burton exclaimed. "I knew you would not be
obstinate. And you will see--Mr Burton will be delighted to have you
with us. You must feel you are really coming _home_, my own dear
child."
"Poor aunty," said Ella half affectionately, half patronisingly. But
she smiled graciously enough, and Mrs Burton was satisfied.
Ella contrived to say a word or two in private to Mrs Ward before she
left. She thanked her for her kindness and added,--
"You must not think I have given up my plan, Mrs Ward. I had to give
in in the meantime, but when I am of age, or sooner perhaps, you will
probably hear of me again."
The matron smiled.
"I shall always be pleased to hear of you, Miss St Quentin," she
answered. "But not as wanting to be a governess, I hope. Try to be
happy and useful at home. There is no place like it--except in _very_
exceptional circumstances. And then there are so many women who must
work and find it very difficult to do so. I am always sorry to see
their ranks increased unnecessarily."
Ella seemed rather struck by this remark.
"I had never thought of it that way," she said. It was not till her
aunt and she were ensconsed in a comfortable railway carriage by
themselves that she ventured upon the question she had been all along
burning to ask.
"Aunt Phillis," she began, "have you nothing more to tell me? Did--did
Madelene's messenger say nothing more?"
"What do you mean, my dear?" said Mrs Burton with manifest uneasiness.
"I am almost sure I know who the messenger was," Ella went on, "and
under the circumstances it was, I think, really kind. But you don't
want to tell me, so I won't ask. Only--did this mysterious person not
tell you any news--anything about Ermine?"
Mrs Burton looked up with evident relief. This was plainly a safe
tack.
"About Ermine?" she said with perfect candour; "no, my dear, nothing at
all--except--yes, I think--that was said--that she is coming home
immediately; she must indeed be home already, I fancy."
"And that was all?"
"Yes, all, I assure you. What news did you expect?"
"I can't tell you," Ella replied. "We shall be hearing it before long
no doubt."
Then she relapsed into silence, and Mrs Burton in her own mind began to
put two and two together. Could Ella's determination to leave her home
have anything to do with the handsome young cousin of her sisters'--
Madelene's "messenger," as the girl had shrewdly surmised? Could it be
that he had been playing a double game, and making the poor child
believe he cared for her when in reality engaged, or in some tacit way
plighted, to one of her sisters? For Mrs Burton had heard some gossip
more than once about Sir Philip Cheynes and the Coombesthorpe heiresses.
If it were indeed so it would explain all. And yet--it was difficult
to believe anything of the kind of the young man.
"He seemed so frank and chivalrous," thought Ella's aunt, "and he spoke
in such an entirely brotherly way of Madelene and Ermine. And they all
seem to have _unshed_ to make Ella happy. The keeping from her the true
state of affairs about the property was kindly done. And I am sure Sir
Philip Cheynes was genuinely concerned and anxious about Ella. He
really seemed terribly sorry. I do wish she had never left me; and to
think that poor Marcus's money is all gone, and that there is nothing
for her! If I had known it, I would never have married again, never,
kind as Mr Burton is! I do hope he and Ella will take to each other,
and I think they will, his best comes out to any one in trouble."
It was very strange to Ella to find herself again--and after the lapse
of comparatively speaking so short a time--under her aunt's roof, or to
speak more correctly, under Mr Burton's. She would have shrunk from
meeting the worthy gentleman a short time before, but late events had
changed her greatly. She was quiet and gentle enough now, so much so
indeed that her aunt and her husband agreed that they would be glad to
see a spark or two of her old spirit.
"How you and she used to fight," Mrs Burton exclaimed half regretfully.
"And now," her husband added, "she is as quiet and mild as a lamb. I
don't like it, Phillis--no, my dear, I don't like it. I take blame to
myself for having let her leave you, and if there is anything I can do
to make up for it, I will do so. She has such pretty, thoughtful ways
too. Did you notice how she sees that my paper is always folded ready
for me? Her father must be hard to please if he was not satisfied with
her."
It was true. Ella was much softened; her sore heart was grateful for
kindness, and she was ashamed to recall her childish petulance and
impertinence to her aunt's husband. But kind as the Burtons were to
her, there were often times when she regretted that she had not been
allowed to take her own way; for life was dull and dreary to her. She
missed the companionship of her sisters, little as she had prized it
while with them. Madelene's gentleness and refinement, Ermine's merry
humour and bright intellect had become more to her than she had in the
least realised. "If only, oh, if only they had loved me a little," she
repeated to herself.
Time passed--slowly enough to Ella; at the end of a week she felt as if
she had been a month with her aunt; at the end of a fortnight she could
have believed a year had gone by since she left Coombesthorpe; before
the first month was over the whole of the past year began to seem to her
like a strangely mingled dream of pain and pleasure. She wrote to
Madelene, gently and regretfully, but vaguely, and Madelene who had been
longing for this letter, and building some hopes upon it, felt saddened
and discouraged. She handed it to Ermine, who read it carefully.
"Can you understand her?" asked Miss St Quentin.
Ermine knitted her brows.
"Not altogether," she said. "But, Maddie, I don't despair yet of things
coming right somehow. I suppose," she added with a little smile, "when
one is happy one's self, it is easier to feel hopeful about other
people, even--" but here she hesitated; "even about you and Bernard."
"Oh, Ermine, do leave that subject alone," said Madelene.
"Next week I shall write to Ella," said Ermine, "papa will let me send a
message from him I feel sure."
Ella had been fully four weeks at Mrs Burton's when Ermine's letter
came. It was a mild day in March, one of the occasional early spring
days which are not false to their name; Ella had persuaded her aunt to
let her go for a walk by herself, and with many injunctions as to the
direction she was to take, and the roads and paths she was not to wander
from, Mrs Burton had consented. In spite of herself the fresh, yet
soft air, the sensation of "promise" in the birds' chirpings, and the
few all but invisible green specks in the hedges, still more the
discovery of a lingering snowdrop or two, and of something not unlike
buds here and there among the primrose tufts, gave her a thrill of keen
pleasure and invigoration.
"I wish I could go away--quite away, ever so far," she said to herself.
"I should like to make a fresh start and show them all I am not the
spoilt, self-willed child they have thought me. I wish they would write
and tell me about Ermine's engagement, it must be openly announced by
now. I do wish they would tell me of it, and then I think I would take
courage and write to dear godmother. I am afraid she is very angry with
me, and no wonder. It must have seemed very unnatural to her that if I
was in trouble at home I did not go to her, when she was so sympathising
about my thinking Madelene didn't care for me. But Cheynesacre was the
last, the very last place I could have gone to."
She was crossing the wide breezy downs not far from Mrs Burton's house
on the outskirts of the town. Already the short afternoon was closing
in, and the colours in the sky, softened by the wintry haze, announced
the approaching sunset. Ella stood still to admire.
"How lovely it would be just now at home," she thought; the word
slipping out half-unconsciously, "I do love the _real_ country, and yet
when I was there with them I used to fancy I longed for streets and
shops. I must have changed--yes, I am sure I have changed. But I am
very babyish still. I do feel this afternoon somehow as if I were going
to be happy--and yet I don't know why."
She hastened on.
"Aunty will be getting frightened," she thought. And as if in reply to
the thought, suddenly just emerging on to the open ground, she caught
sight of Mrs Burton's familiar figure. She was walking quickly, more
quickly than usual, for aunt Phillis was stout and short and not very
much given to exertion. Ella's conscience reproached her as she
perceived that the good lady was panting for breath and considerably
redder in the face than usual.
"Oh, aunty," she exclaimed, "I'm so sorry. Have I stayed too long?"
For a moment or two Mrs Burton could not get her breath to reply,
instead of speaking she held out a letter--it was addressed to Ella in
Ermine's writing.
"I couldn't wait till you came in. I was so eager to tell you. I felt
so excited," panted the good lady at last. "I am so pleased and I am
sure it will bring things round. Madelene has written to me, that is
how I know. I do think it very nice of her. And they have--your father
and they have invited us to the wedding--Mr Burton and me. It is very
gratifying," and Aunt Phillis beamed with complacency.
Ella had taken the letter in silence. But she had grown deadly pale.
It had come then--the blow which she had been vaguely anticipating;
which she had--how mistakenly she now saw--come to believe she
thoroughly realised, had fallen.
"I knew something was going to happen," she said to herself; "I felt it
coming, and like a fool I fancied it was going to be something happy."
Her silence startled her aunt. She glanced at her hastily.
"My dear child," she exclaimed. "You look quite white. How thoughtless
of me to startle you so. Don't be frightened, Ella dearest. It is
pleasant--good news, nothing to be distressed about."
Ella turned to her with what was intended to be a smile, but failed
disastrously.
"I--I was only startled," the poor child said at last, with a painful
sort of gasp.
Mrs Burton grew more and more alarmed. She glanced round; there was a
bench a few paces off.
"Let us sit down for a minute or two," she said. "It is cold. But you
must rest and recover yourself. Read your letter quietly. I won't
speak to you till you feel all right again."
She had fortunately some eau de Cologne in her pocket, by the help of
which and a few minutes of perfect quiet, Ella mastered her agitation.
Then she opened the letter.
She had read but a few lines when a change came over her face, first a
look of bewilderment which increased as she read, then a curious,
half-fearful questioning appeared in her eyes, to be followed by a flush
of eager, yet tremulous joy.
"Aunty," she said breathlessly, "please look at it," and she held out
the letter, "am I making some strange mistake? I feel as if I were
dreaming. Aunty--let me see your letter--do they tell you too who it
is? Is it true--is it not Sir Philip that Ermine is going to marry?"
Mrs Burton glanced at her niece in astonishment, astonishment which
soon changed to keen concern and sympathy as she understood Ella's
anxiety. She had plenty of good sense and ready wit however.
"Ella shall never know I have discovered her secret," was the thought
that flashed through her mind.
"Not Sir Philip," she repeated, "why of course not--I never thought of
him for either of your sisters. He has been far too much like a brother
to them always."
Her tone was quite matter-of-fact. Ella gave a half shy look at her--it
was reassuring.
"Yes," she said, "they have seemed like that, I know, but still--one
never knows how things may turn out. Would you like to read my letter,
aunt?--and may I see yours? Ermine's is very, very kind."
"Kinder than I deserve," she added to herself. How grievously she had
misjudged her sisters, Madelene especially! How suspicious and mean now
seemed her fancies that Madelene was plotting to keep her out of Sir
Philip's way in order that she might bring about a marriage between him
and Ermine! She grew more and more ashamed as she read Madelene's own
letter to her aunt, for it was evident that Miss St Quentin's personal
feelings were those of the greatest satisfaction; there was not the
slightest shadow of regret or disappointment that Ermine's choice should
have fallen where it had.
"She could not have written as she does if she had _ever_ thought of Sir
Philip as I suspected," thought Ella, and she sat, lost in her own
reflections till her aunt's voice interrupted her.
"Have you ever seen him, Ella--your future brother-in-law--Mr Guildford
West?" asked Mrs Burton.
"N-no--no," Ella replied, "at least I don't remember him. I think--yes,
I recollect Madelene's saying once that he was at the Manor ball, but I
don't think I knew which he was."
Then her mind reverted to what Madelene had said at different times
about Ermine's future, and she felt startled again to think how she had
misinterpreted every allusion of the kind. Yet there was still
something she could not altogether understand--why had Madelene spoken
of her as such a care and burden, adding to the existing
"complications?"
"No," thought Ella, "I can't quite make it out. But I will never
mistrust Madelene again--it is the least I can do to trust her now after
having so shamefully misjudged her. Some day perhaps, if she and I are
ever together again--some day she will explain things perhaps and till
then I can only ask her pardon in my heart."
She was very pale and there were tears in her eyes as she roused herself
to take part in her aunt's eager speculations and comments on the
interesting piece of news.
"It is so nice of Madelene to say they will hope to see _us_ at the
wedding. I hope Mr Burton will go; he is rather shy, you see, Ella,
having been so long a bachelor, and that makes him seem gruff till
people get to know him. But we _must_ get him to go--it will be
charming to see you as bridesmaid. I _am_ so pleased about it
altogether. And your father is pleased--it will do him good. Mr West
must be very nice in every way," she went on, "not very rich, I suppose,
but with Ermine's fortune that was not necessary."
Ella turned to her with a little surprise.
"Will Ermine have much while papa lives?" she asked. "I have never
heard much about it, but papa never speaks as if he were very rich."
Mrs Burton fidgeted a little.
"Oh--Ermine will have a very handsome income," she said evasively. "But
I dare say they will explain things themselves to you, now you are
really grown-up. I consider it a _very_ good marriage for Mr West
too."
And Ella's girlish mind gave no more thought to this part of the matter.
Pounds, shillings, and pence were such very unimportant considerations
in her eyes.