Mr. Rayner was right. I was very tired; and the next morning I
overslept myself, and did not come downstairs until breakfast was more
than half over. It had been unusually punctual, and, to my surprise,
the brougham came round to the door as I went into the dining-room,
and I found Mrs. Rayner in outdoor dress at the table.
“Well, Miss Christie, we have all got tired of you; so we are going to
leave you all alone at the Alders,” said Mr. Rayner, when he saw my
astonished face.
And, when he had amused himself a little longer by all sorts of absurd
stories about their departure, I found that he was going up to town
for a few days, and that Mrs. Rayner was going with him as far as
Beaconsburgh station. He was going on business, he said; but he should
combine pleasure with it--go the round of the theatres, and perhaps
not be back until Saturday. This was Tuesday.
“Would you like to go to Beaconsburgh with us? You have no lessons to
do, as Haidee is still in bed. And I dare say you have some little
purchases to make; and you can change the books at the
circulating-library, and Mrs. Rayner will have a companion to drive
back with.”
Mrs. Rayner did not receive the proposal with enthusiasm; but he told
me to run upstairs, put on my things, and be down before he could
count thirty; and I was in the dining-room again, panting and
struggling with my gloves, in scarcely more than the prescribed time.
There was plenty of room for me on the little seat in front of them in
the brougham; but I had great difficulty in dissuading him from
sitting outside by the coachman in order to give us more room.
When we got to the station, we found that we were there a great deal
too soon. Mr. Rayner walked up and down, talking to the station-master
and the people he knew, telling every one where he was going, and
asking those among them who had been to London lately what were the
best plays to go and see, and if they knew of a really good hotel, not
too expensive, within easy distance of the theatres. He said to me
once, when I was standing by him--
“If anything should happen while I am away--if Haidee should get
worse, or Mrs. Rayner frighten you, or anything--telegraph to me at
once at the Charing Cross Hotel. I don’t know whether I shall stay
there; but if you send it there it will reach me. You will find some
forms in my study, and you will just write it without saying a word to
anybody, and take it straight to Sam, and tell him to go to
Beaconsburgh with it at once. Mind--to Sam; don’t trust any of the
women-servants.”
I wondered he did not entrust this duty to the all-important Sarah;
but I accepted the charge without comment.
“What shall I bring you this time?” said he, just before the train
came up. “Roses are out of season. Some more paste to match your
pendant?”
“Oh, no, no!” answered I. “You know I can’t wear it, Mr. Rayner; and
it only makes me vain and makes me wish for more.”
“Ah, I though so!” said he, half to himself, maliciously. “Well,
wishes always come true if one wishes them hard enough. I shall bring
you some garnets. That is a most inexpensive red stone, and very
pretty.”
“Oh, I think I would rather not! I really don’t want any jewelry, Mr.
Rayner,” declared I.
But the train had come up. He said good-by affectionately to his wife
and kindly to me; and we saw him off, and then made our purchases and
drove back to Geldham. It was rather an uncomfortable drive, for the
only remark Mrs. Rayner made was, when I said it was cold--
“Then you had better order them to light the fire in your room early,
Miss Christie. Mr. Rayner will upset the whole household if you take
cold while he is away.”
Then she shut her eyes and went, or pretended to go, to sleep, and I
looked at her and thought what an unpleasant person she was, until the
hollows in her face and the suffering expression about her mouth
touched me. Why did she shut herself up and persist in being
miserable, instead of returning her husband’s love and changing the
melancholy Alders into the cheerful, bright place it might be?
I spent a dull day; for, when I went to see Haidee, Mrs. Rayner
instantly left the room, and I could not help seeing that it was to
avoid me; so I was obliged to resist the sick child’s entreaties for
me to stay, and to go back and wander by myself about the house and
garden, too miserable in my thoughts about Laurence and his cruel
desertion of me to be able to read or work.
At tea-time Mrs. Rayner did not appear. Sarah said that Haidee was
worse, and that her mother would not leave her. The evening was very
cold, and, as Mrs. Rayner had rather ostentatiously told Jane to light
Miss Christie’s fire directly after dinner, I went up to my own room
as soon as I had finished tea, and sat on the hearthrug, and nursed my
sorrow where I could at least be warm.
It was about seven o’clock when Jane came up to say that Haidee was
worse, and was crying out for me.
“I think she is going to die, miss--I do indeed,” said kind little
Jane, sobbing. “They won’t let me in there; but I’ve been listening,
for Mr. Rayner’s away and Sarah’s out, and I don’t care not that for
Mrs. Rayner!”--and she snapped her fingers contemptuously. “I heard
Miss Haidee a-calling for you, miss; and I don’t believe she knows
what she’s saying, poor little dear, and they ought to send for a
doctor; but I don’t suppose they will. Sarah don’t care, and Mrs.
Rayner don’t dare--that’s about it, miss.”
And Jane gave me a nod and an expressive look as I went out of the
room with her. I knew that the servants, one and all, looked upon
their mistress as a poor-spirited thing, while they had some
admiration and a great deal of respect for their master. The few
orders she gave they fulfilled in a spirit of condescension or
neglected altogether, while a word from him acted like a spell upon
any one of them.
Thus, he having ordered that Mrs. Rayner, being an invalid, was not to
be disturbed by sweepings and dustings and noises in the passage
leading to her room, no member of the household ever dared to enter
the left wing but Sarah, who had entire charge of the long corridor,
bedroom, dressing-room, and store-room which it contained, although it
was shut out from the rest of the house merely by a heavy
baize-covered swing-door with only a bolt, which was seldom, I
believe, drawn in the daytime. So that Jane felt like a heroine after
having ventured on the other side of that door; and, when we came to
it, she stood looking first at it and then at me, as if to touch it
again were more than she dared.
“Oh, miss,” said she, as I stepped forward to go through, “suppose Mr.
Rayner was in there?”
“But Mr. Rayner is in London,” returned I, laughing.
“Ah, yes, miss! But he do come back that sudden sometimes he might be
a ghost. Of course it’s all right for you, miss; but, if he was to
know I’d been in there, oh, miss, I should die o’ fright! When he’s
angry, he just speaks fit to cut yer head off.”
I laughed at Jane’s fears, and pushed open the door, not without
difficulty, for it was very heavy, and, Jane’s courage having
evaporated, she dared not help me. My teeth chattered as I went
through this passage, it was so cold; and what was my surprise to
find, when I got to the end, that the window had been left open on
this chilly and wet October evening! I took the liberty of shutting
it, and, returning to the dressing-room door, I tapped softly at it. I
could hear Haidee’s voice, but I could not hear what she said, and
Mrs. Rayner sobbing and calling her by name. I went in softly, and
with a shriek the mother started up from her knees; she had been on
the floor beside the bed. Haidee knew me, though her cheeks were
flushed and her eyes bright with fever, and she wandered in her talk.
I sat on the bed and tried to make her lie down and keep the clothes
over her, for the room was as cold as the corridor. Mrs. Rayner was
clinging to the rail at the bottom of the little bed and watching me
with eyes as glittering as the child’s. I felt just a little tremor of
fear. Had I trusted myself alone with a sick child and a madwoman on
the verge of an outbreak of fury? Her bosom heaved and her hands
clutched the rail tightly as she said--
“What right have you to come here? Are you not snug and warm upstairs
in your turret? Why must you come and exult over me? You were welcome
to my husband. Then you took my child. Can you not spare her to me now
she is dying?”
I had heard that one must always talk to mad people as if one thought
them sane; so I said--
“Not dying, Mrs. Rayner; don’t say that. I came down just to see if I
could be of any use. Why don’t you take her into your own room? It is
so cold in here. And wouldn’t it be better to send in for Doctor
Maitland? Oh, I forgot! He is away. But you might send Sam to
Beaconsburgh for Doctor Lowe.”
Her manner changed. As she looked at me, all the anger, all the little
gust of defiance faded out of her great eyes, and she fell to sobbing
and whispering--
“I dare not--I dare not!”
“May I take her into your room, Mrs. Rayner?”
“No, no.”
“Then, if you will allow me, I will take her up into mine. You won’t
mind her being so far from you, if you know it is better for her, will
you?” said I persuasively. “It is so beautifully warm up there that it
won’t matter if she throws the clothes off her, as she can’t help
doing, poor little thing; and I’ll wrap her up well, so that she shall
not take cold on the way.”
Mrs. Rayner stared at me helplessly.
“Will you dare?” she asked fearfully.
“Certainly, with your permission.”
“You know very well that my permission is nothing,” sobbed she.
“And I don’t wonder, you poor spiritless thing!” I thought to myself.
But I was very sorry for her; and I asked if she would like to have my
room for the night, to be near her child.
But she was frightened at the idea; so I wrapped the child up well in
a blanket, thinking I would put her in my own bed until her little one
could be taken upstairs. I was rather frightened myself at the thought
of giving such an order to the awful Sarah, and, just as I was
debating with myself whether she would be likely to obey it, she
entered the room. I attacked her at once.
“Sarah, I want you to bring Miss Haidee’s bed up into my room, if you
please. This is too cold for her. Jane can help you, if it is too
heavy.”
She seemed not to be quite sure whether to be insolent or submissive.
She decided for the former.
“And by what authority, miss, do you give orders for moving about the
furniture?”
“Your mistress wishes it to be done.”
“My mistress! And pray who is that, miss?”
“You know--Mrs. Rayner.”
“And is that all the authority you have, miss?”
“No,” said I boldly; “more than that--Mr. Rayner’s!”
The women both started, and Sarah took up the bed and without a word
went out of the room. I turned to Mrs. Rayner.
“Don’t be alarmed about Haidee,” I said gently. “I’ll take great care
of her. And, if you will just give your consent, I will send for a
doctor on my own responsibility.”
The poor thing stooped and kissed one of the hands I held round her
child.
“Heaven bless you, Miss Christie!” she murmured; and, turning away,
she sank down upon the empty space where the bed had been, and burst
into a flood of tears.
She would not listen to the few incoherent words I said to comfort
her; and I was obliged to leave the room with tears in my eyes, and
carry my little patient upstairs. I could not go very fast, for the
burden was rather heavy for a small woman like me; and by the time I
got upstairs the bed was ready and Sarah had disappeared.
And now how to get a doctor? For I was seriously alarmed about the
child. To expect any more help from Sarah was out of the question. I
went down to the nursery, called Jane, who was just going to bed, and
asked her where Sam slept.
“In the village,” said she.
Nobody slept at the stables now that Mr. Rayner was away, except the
old gardener, who would certainly never reach Beaconsburgh before
daybreak if I sent him out at nine o’clock at night. Jane was too
young to be sent all that way alone at night, the cook too old. There
was only one thing to be done; I must go myself.
“Go and ask cook, if she is not asleep, to lend me her big round
water-proof cloak, Jane,” said I, “and bring me one of Miss Haidee’s
Shetland veils.”
She ran away, astonished, to fetch them; and then, seeing that I was
in earnest, she helped quickly and well to make me as like a
middle-aged countrywoman as possible by buttoning my cloak, fastening
a garden-hat round my head like a poke-bonnet, and attaching my veil
to it. Then she tied up my umbrella like a market-woman’s, and let me
out, giggling a little at my appearance, but promising faithfully not
to leave Haidee till my return, and to “stand up to Sally” if she
interfered.
I felt rather frightened at the boldness of my undertaking as I heard
the hall door close upon me, and realized that I had nothing in the
world but my umbrella and my wits to protect me all the long three
miles and a half of road to Beaconsburgh. The moon was at the second
quarter, but did not give much light, for it was a cloudy night,
raining now and then. I was not sorry for this, as I was the less
likely to be recognized, and it was not the sort of weather to
encourage late loiterers. I passed two or three villagers, only one of
whom walked unsteadily; but none of them took any notice of me; and I
had got past the last of the Geldham cottages, and on to a piece of
straight road up a hill, where there were no houses in sight, when I
heard the sounds of a vehicle coming along at a good pace behind me.
It slackened to come up the hill, and I, to keep up my character, bent
over my umbrella, and walked more slowly. But this subterfuge had an
undesired effect.
“Hallo, my good woman! Would you like a lift up the hill?” cried the
driver; and my heart leapt up, for it was Laurence’s voice.
In a moment I felt like a different woman; my blood seemed dancing for
joy, my pulses beat more quickly, and the spirit of mischief came into
me so that I wanted to laugh aloud.
“Ay, ay!” I grunted out slowly; and, waiting until the cart came up to
me, I climbed with his help and with seeming difficulty, carefully
keeping my cloak over my hands, on to the seat by his side.
“All right?” said he; and again I grunted “Ay, ay!” and on we went.
Oh, how happy I felt to be again by his side! But it was rather hard
not to be able to take the hand that was nearest to me, and nestle up
to his shoulder, and tell him how miserable I had been since last
night, when he had rushed away with the dreadful threat of not seeing
me again. Well, now he should see me again; he could not help himself.
I felt rather nervous as to what he would say when I did discover
myself. Was he still angry? Would he insist upon my getting down and
going the rest of the way on foot? Or would he say more unkind things
to me? Or would he be pleased to see me, and forgive me?
He was not in a very conversational mood. Was he thinking of me, I
wondered, or was it only that in my disguise I did not promise to
prove an entertaining companion? He asked me if I was going to
Beaconsburgh, and I said “Ay, ay!” again. I knew very well that a real
countrywoman would not say “Ay, ay!” and I was surprised that it did
not strike Laurence himself as a strange sort of answer.
I began to get impatient for him to know me. I looked at him
furtively; he was evidently not at all curious or interested about his
companion. But he looked very grave and thoughtful; and presently, to
my exceeding comfort, he pulled down over his wrists two little
uncomfortable woollen cuffs that I had made, and that he had bought of
me at the sale. I remembered them quite well; we had had a struggle to
get them over his wrists, as I had made them a convenient size, too
large for a woman and too small for a man. It seemed to me that he
handled them lovingly. Upon this encouragement I spoke.
“Aren’t you going to talk?” said I, in my natural voice.
We had passed the hill, and were going along at a good pace; but he
gave the reins such a jerk that the horse stopped.
“You won’t be cross with me again, will you?” said I, anxious to
pledge him to good temper while he was in the first flush of his joy
at meeting me; for it was joy.
He slipped the reins into his right hand and put his other arm around
me and kissed me, Shetland veil and all. And so we made it up without
a word of explanation.
I told him my errand, and he told me his. His father had gone up to
town that day to arrange for the disposal of some shares in order to
purchase a farm for Laurence a few miles off, which was to be stocked,
according to his promise, while his son was away. He was to return by
a train which reached Beaconsburgh about ten o’clock, and Laurence was
on the way to meet him.
“We will call at Doctor Lowe’s first, and then you shall go on with me
to the station and see my father,” said he.
I protested a little that I ought to go back with the Doctor; but of
course he carried his point.
“What do you want a farm for, Laurence?” I asked, as we waited outside
the station.
I remained in the cart holding the reins, for fear my quaint
appearance should excite curiosity regarding young Mr. Reade’s
companion if I got out and went into the station with him. But he
stood by my side holding my hand under my cloak while we talked in a
low voice.
“What do I want a farm for? Why, to have a home for you and something
to live on, of course! I know something about farming, and it doesn’t
matter if I do lose a little just at first.”
“But why did you want to go on preparing a home for an ‘accomplished
coquette,’ whom you said last night you were never going to see
again?”
“One isn’t answerable for all one says to a tormenting little witch
like you,” said Laurence, laughing. “You didn’t suppose I was really
never going to see you again, now did you?”
“I shouldn’t have cared,” said I.
“Ah, I was right about the coquetry! You wouldn’t have told such a
story as that before you went to Denham Court. I was coming to see you
to-morrow evening. I’ve had to be away all to-day over at Lawley, and
I have to be there again to-morrow with my father; but in the evening
I shall call at the Alders and ask boldly for Miss Christie. So mind
you are not out.”
“I shall not promise.”
“And we will have a good long talk together, since, thank Heaven, Mr.
Rayner is away; and I will give you an address where a letter will
reach me.”
We were so intent upon our conversation that I did not notice that
there was a man standing very near to us during the last part of it.
As Laurence finished speaking, he turned his head, and suddenly became
aware that the train had come in while we were talking.
“By Jove! Wait for me, darling,” he cried hastily, and then dashed off
so quickly that he ran against the man, who was dressed like a navvy,
and knocked his hat off.
When he returned with his father, who greeted me very kindly, he
looked pale and anxious.
“Do you know who that man was I ran against?” he whispered.
“That navvy?”
“It was no navvy. It was Mr. Rayner.”
“Laurence!” said I incredulously.
“I tell you it was--I swear it! What was he doing, skulking about in
that get-up? He came down by this train. He must have overheard what
we were saying. Now mark what I say, Violet--I shall not see you
again.”
“But, Laurence, how could he prevent it? You will come to the house
and ask for me--”
“Listen, Violet,” he interrupted. “If you do not see me to-morrow
night before seven o’clock, be at your ‘nest’ without fail at
half-past.”
“Very well, I will, Laurence--I will. I promise.”
But nothing would reassure him.
“I tell you it will be of no use, my darling--of no use. We must say
good-by to-night, for I shall not see you again.”